Pride and Determination
by Silverlake
Summary: Kel's married Dom and become training master, but her favorite students have a long road ahead of them...Ch. 12 is up!
1. Chapter 1

_This is very much an original character outtake. It follows Penelope and Dalton through chapter 2 of Training Master Mindelan, in which she punishes her two favorite students for 'falling down' beside two of her least favorite young conservatives. Location belongs to Tamora Pierce. _

Penelope was on her way to the library when Gregory and Marcel appeared, stepping soundlessly from behind a pair of pillars. She kept her head up and her strides big; ignoring them was usually the best strategy.

Not that night.

"You ought to bow to your betters, girl," Gregory said stepping in front of her, twirling a wooden practice sword, "since you're too clumsy to curtsy." Penelope could tell he'd snuck out to drink; he stank of beer.

"I always bow to my _betters,"_ she answered, "and never to drunken idiots." It was stupid, but she was sick of their insinuations. And once she'd said it there was no taking it back.

Gregory lunged at her with a snarl. She ducked easily and found herself trapped in Marcel's massive arms. Gregory slammed the practice sword against her shoulder. Marcel yanked her off the ground. She kicked his shin and twisted, trying to get free.

It only partly worked. She freed one arm as they both toppled to the ground and Marcel's knee landed on her hand, breaking fingers. He yanked her upright and Gregory punched her in the face (apparently he'd decided this was more satisfying than the practice weapon). She flinched and Gregory stepped closer to hit her again. She lifted her knee and rammed it into Gregory's groin. He yelled and staggered back. Penelope drove her elbow into Marcel's gut; he grunted but held her tightly.

"I see someone skipped his homework on the Code of Knighthood." It was Dalton, her friend and fellow fourth year page, appearing alone in the library entrance. All three of them froze.

Penelope caught Dalton's eye and he winked at her. She blinked, glad he'd been the one to find them and also wishing he hadn't. They fought well together but she wanted to see this through on her own terms. She lifted both legs and kicked Gregory straight in the chest.

"He probably thinks he's so noble he can just absorb it through his blood," Dalton added as Gregory staggered backwards.

"You wouldn't know what true nobles know," Gregory shot back. "Not with your commoner mother—and probably commoner father too."

Dalton shed his customary nonchalance and dove at Gregory.

Marcel hurled her against the wall. She lurched upright through a haze of pain and sprang into the fight. It was chaos, but it didn't last long before a servant's shouts stopped them. By then, Penelope had her knee over Marcel's neck. She started to get up but Marcel twisted suddenly, knocking her over and jarring all her bruises.

"And I thought Mindelan had actually reduced the fighting," the servant grumbled. "But things aren't really any different with a woman in charge." He glared at all of them, taking in Dalton's bloody noise, Penelope's bruised face, Marcel's broken tooth, and Gregory's black eye. "Let's go," he muttered as Gregory and Dalton disentangled themselves and stood.

Dalton took her hand and pulled her up. Marcel watched, his features creeping into a knowing leer that left ice churning through Penelope's gut. She glared back at him and until the servant repeated his orders for them to follow him to Mindelan's study.

Gregory and Marcel started after him, shrugging arrogantly. Dalton went next, stepping quickly between Penelope and Gregory, and leaving her to follow last and wonder how she'd fallen into such a wreck.

PPPP

Penelope waited alone outside Mindelan's study, gazing at the carpet as though it held the answers to all her confusion.

Dalton emerged and touched her shoulder, startling her.

"Sorry," he murmured, pulling his hand away quickly. "I didn't realize they'd caught your collarbone."

"They didn't," she lied, suddenly angry. She ought to have admitted the injury. At least it would have given her an excuse for jumping at his touch. Then again, he was Dalton—who'd been her friend, sparring partner, and companion in crime since their first week as pages—and he probably knew she was lying.

"I'll wait here and walk to the infirmary with you when you're finished," he offered.

"No need," she said, mostly to cover her sudden awkwardness, "I can go alone. They won't ambush me twice in one night."

"But_ I'd_ rather not go alone," he said lightly, "since it would mean waiting in the infirmary with Gregory and Marcel. Plus, I don't particularly want to watch Queenscove undo our handiwork."

"I see." A chuckle bubbled up from somewhere inside her as she stepped toward Mindelan's door. "This shouldn't take long."

It didn't. She accepted her punishment duty and found Dalton waiting outside for her. He grinned at her, cracking the dried blood on his upper lip.

"The usual?"

"The usual," Penelope confirmed as they started down the hall together. They walked an arm's length or so apart—farther than usual, she realized uneasily, though she wasn't sure why. But she was suddenly aware that their arms brushed sometimes when they walked and, in the cold corridor, she missed the warmth of his shoulder. She frowned; distraction was dangerous.

Gregory and Marcel had left by the time they reached the infirmary and Queenscove was expecting them.

"History always repeats itself," he muttered, starting on Dalton's nose.

Penelope dropped onto a cot, glad for the chance to sit and not speak. Usually, she would have enjoyed trying to torment Queenscove into offering sarcastic commentary on his and Mindelan's own page years. But her entire body ached and she was ashamed of the way she'd wavered under Marcel's eyes. She couldn't afford to let that kind of rumor start.

"And you?" Queenscove asked, lifting her chin.

"Nothing much," Penelope muttered. "I'm mostly tired." She held out her broken fingers and gestured to the bruise on her face.

"Is there a reason you didn't tell Ke—Mindelan they'd been drinking?"

"They ought to have told her themselves," she muttered. "It would be a very good explanation for falling down."

He raised an eyebrow but nodded and tended her injuries while Dalton waited.

She nearly showed him the bruise on her collarbone, but a sudden uncharacteristic modesty held her back. Not that she cared about tugging her shirt collar open in front of a married healer. It was mostly that she didn't want Dalton to see the bruise or her breastband. He'd been too protective lately—she couldn't look like a vulnerable girl before him.

Instead, she left the infirmary still bruised and decidedly cranky.

"You can whine, you know," Dalton muttered when she sighed quietly. "I won't tell anyone." And he wouldn't, she knew that.

"Nothing worth complaining about." She forced a casual shrug. "I knew what I was getting into."

Dalton snorted softly.

"I knew exactly—"

"Then you were an idiot," he muttered. An affectionate mutter.

"So were you for joining in," she snapped.

"I was trying to help even out the fight. It looked like you could use a friend."

"I was managing fine on my own." Another lie and they both knew it.

"Yes, managing to get yourself ground into a pulp by a couple of brutes twice your size."

"I never asked you to wade in and rescue me—"

"So, I'm not allowed to join a fight without your ladyship's permission am I? What was I supposed to do? Ignore their insults to me and my family and then just stand and watch while Marcel pinned your arms and Gregory pummeled your face—"

"I would have kicked free if—" Penelope started, turning away.

"Look"—he grabbed her wrist and his fingers were so warm and gentle that she found herself turning off her own accord to face him again—"all I did was make an unfair fight into a fair one. I know you're trying to prove yourself and all, but that doesn't give you a right to be so gods-cursed stubborn all the time…"

A throat cleared loudly beside them. It was Mindelan. He dropped her wrist so suddenly she felt a twinge in her shoulder.

"I wouldn't want either of you to take another fall so soon after you've gotten yourselves patched up," she said quietly. "Or have another philosophical dispute with a stubborn animal as the case may be. If I recall correctly, you both have an essay about the Code of Knighthood due tomorrow. I suggest that you two walk back to the library and work on it."

They dropped reflexively into short bows and hurried away, silent once more. Penelope just heard a laugh as Mindelan greeted her daughter in the infirmary and she almost smiled in response. It was a very hopeful sound.

"Scene of the crime," Dalton muttered darkly as they reached the corridor outside the library.

It was, but Penelope couldn't think of anything to say about it. They walked silently to their customary table and opened their books. Penelope hastily scrawled out a mediocre essay. She tried to improve it but found herself reliving the fight—the details she hadn't noticed at the time: the way Gregory had nodded quickly to Marcel to signal that the corridor was clear before they'd grabbed her; the way Dalton had deliberately goaded them into insulting his own family so he could join the fight…

"Why?" she muttered.

He lifted his head. "What do you mean?"

"Why did—" But she suddenly didn't want to ask. "Doesn't matter now," she mumbled. "We're not really getting anything done."

He sighed. "Not really."

"I'm just going to go to bed then." Her essay was good enough and not likely to get any better.

He nodded and shut his book.

"You don't—"Penelope started, before she realized she had no right to dictate his comings and goings. "Never mind."

They walked—silently again, as though it were some sort of punishment—to the pages' corridor.

"Next time—" Penelope began.

"Let's hope there isn't a next time," Dalton muttered.

"There will be a next time." Penelope slowed down. They were nearing her door.

"Then I'll do the exact same thing next time," Dalton said steadily. He clapped her on the shoulder lightly—so lightly it was more of a brush; he knew she was still bruised. "Good night."

"Night." Penelope forced her scowl into a smile, but couldn't bring herself to thank him, not with so much unfinished silence stretching between them.

_Remember folks, the angst doesn't last long and they wind up very happy together. In fact, they have a beautiful baby girl and…Anyway, this popped into my head while I was sitting in lecture today, probably in response to revising Training Master Mindelan. (Just tightening and smoothing, no real changes.) It may become a sporadic series since Penelope and Dalton tend to highjack my imagination and working with them has helped me write a few of the characters in my original novels…_


	2. Fighting the Fall

_Okay, I was overwhelmed by the positive response from my amazing reviewers and have decided to make this something of a series…So I'll be skipping through the story catching various unexplored moments (and re-exploring a few fun moments) in the adventures of Penelope and Dalton from their pages years to their early knighthood. This episode takes place the day after the previous one and contains material from chapters 3 and 4 of Training Master Mindelan (the fall camp episodes). As always, Tortall belongs to Tamora Pierce._

Dalton wasn't surprised to find Penelope already in the practice courts (and already slightly sweaty from her usual morning glaive practice) when he arrived with the rest of the pages. He was, however, quite surprised to see her talking—in a low mutter accompanied by a fierce glare—to Gregory. She shook her head in response to something he'd said and squared her shoulders. Dalton hurried forwards and Gregory suddenly turned away from Penelope as Mindelan arrived.

Dalton nodded at Penelope in greeting and she nodded back stiffly, clearly still sore from the previous evening's philosophical disagreement with gravity.

Mindelan called out instruction and paired them together for staff exercises before they could speak to one another.

Dalton grabbed a staff and met Penelope at on the far end of the practice courts. They didn't discuss the location; it was one they always choose out of long habit since it had kept Dalton—who as a fourth son and the product of his father's second marriage ought not have been trying for knighthood in haMinch's mind—and Penelope—who ought not to have existed in his vision of the universe—out of their previous training master's critical eye.

They were both familiar with the exercise and fell into an easy rhythm, their staffs tapping in light, energetic bursts. High, middle, low. High, low, middle. Low, high, low, middle. And again.

"So?" Dalton glanced pointedly at Gregory.

"So," Penelope repeated enigmatically. She stepped closer and struck faster.

Dalton kept pace easily. "I'd have thought he learned his lesson last night."

"What?" Their staffs slammed together so hard it came out a grunt. "That you'll come and rescue me whenever he steps too close?"

"Hard-ly." The two syllables were two separate strikes; they're shields were flying. Dalton didn't care. He didn't like the way Gregory had been looking at his friend recently, with something like lust in his eyes. "Only when you're being a reckless—"

"A reckless what?" Penelope was gripping her staff too tightly and they were standing too close. "Bitch? Trollop? I've heard it all before."

"Not from me," Dalton hissed. He was striking her staff as hard as he wanted to hit Marcel and Gregory and she was matching him blow for blow.

Mindelan paused beside them. There will be no trips to the infirmary for either of you if you break fingers with that nonsense."

They stilled their staffs and blinked at one another. Dalton stepped forward again, deliberately setting as a slow rhythm. High, middle, low. High, low, middle. Low, high, low, middle. And again. They maintained it in silence until Mindelan called a water break.

Dalton leant his staff on the fence and hurried to the barrel, pointedly avoiding looking at Penelope. She was being unreasonable and they both knew it. And then he preferred to avoid that gut-lurching urge to take her by the shoulders and pull her close that he seemed to get when he watched her for too long.

He nearly choked when she tapped his shoulder. He managed a hasty swallow and spun to face her. She took a step back and glanced hesitantly up at him so that he realized again how small she was.

"Sorry," she said slowly. "I—I didn't mean what I—you know…"

Dalton didn't know, but he was so relieved to hear her—his impulsive, honest Penelope—sounding almost like herself again. So he nodded to keep her going.

"Look. I've been—can we just forget about last night?"

"Of course," he lied. Because he wasn't ever going to forget watching her struggle out of Marcel's cruel grip and wanting desperately to help her. "It's over." He shook her hand—her fingers were cool and calloused in his—and they nodded in agreement. Then he stepped back to keep himself from shaking her shoulders—very gently because he knew she was bruised—until she saw sense.

Mindelan saw their handshake and nodded approvingly at him. He smiled hopefully despite his lingering doubt, which unfortunately proved itself valid. They stopped talking about _The Incident _but they didn't seem to be able to talk about anything else.

They were paired together often during the next week and three days. And it never went well. They didn't fight outright—they never yelled insults or took their…awkward anger off the practice courts. But it seemed that they couldn't stop speeding up. And it was only with great conscious restraint that they managed to dim their intensity.

And he was swinging to hurt her too, giving as good as he got—because, really, that was the only way to fight Penelope—and hating himself for it. They both made several (unaccompanied) trips to the infirmary for bruise balm. And they didn't discuss this either, though they often mumbled apologies—sometimes simultaneously—and genuinely meant them. Only the apologies never got very far before they dissolved into acutely uncomfortable silence.

It was intolerable.

And he suspected it was even worse for her since she had fewer friends among the fourth year pages. Not that he could ask her.

DDDD

The ride out to fall camp was even worse. They rode together out of old habit and he found he couldn't stop glancing at her. She was one of the sort of girl—the word spilled into his thoughts and he had to consciously replace it with 'page'—who looked particularly good on horseback given her lean, muscled limbs and her gleaming golden-brown braid. And his ability to stop glancing angered him into glaring at her, until she caught him and dropped her gaze to her horse's neck.

He only smiled once, when Queenscove took offence at her cheeky optimism.

DDDD

Naturally, the good-natured Mindelan hadn't noticed their sudden taciturn tendencies and cheerfully paired them together to lead a group of younger pages on a map-making expedition the next morning.

"So," he said slowly once they'd all walked out of sight, "do you want to take lead or sweep?"

She blinked at his face for a moment as though he'd challenged her somehow. She seemed almost to stretch a hand towards him and then think better of it.

He shrugged with deliberate carelessness. "I don't have a preference."

She let out a slow breath and almost smiled. "Me neither."

" How about if I start in back and then we switch places midway through?"

She nodded at him and turned to take up a position in front.

DDDD

"We're nearly to the top," said Penelope, as she offered to steadying forearm—the kind she would never accept from Dalton—to Selina, helping her climb over a large fallen tree.

"The trees are thinning out," Dalton agreed, staring pointedly for a moment at the arm Selina had grasped. "So, I think we'll get a good enough view if we climb onto that heap of rock."

"If not, I guess we'll have to find a tree to climb," said Deric, as he, too, scrambled over the log with Penelope's aid.

Dalton nodded and then offered his arm to Perry, a second year page, before glancing at Penelope.

"I can manage," she murmured in the flat, polite voice she'd used with him since the _incident_. She made an ungraceful scramble across the obstacle. Dalton shrugged and followed her.

"Can we leave weapons at the bottom?" Deric asked when the reached their rock pile. "It looks like it's going to be steep going." Perry shrugged and looked from Penelope to Dalton.

Dalton opened his mouth to refuse, but Penelope beat him to it.

"We'd better not."

Dalton nodded. "For all we know, the training master has asked the Wildmage to have the animals watch us to be sure we're doing everything by the book." He took a quick swig from his water-skin and began leading the way up.

It didn't take long to reach the top and Dalton was just about to reach into his pack for their mapmaking supplies when a shadow passed overhead.

"Down!" Penelope shouted

Dalton grabbed Deric—the only one he could reach—and shoved him roughly to the ground. A hurrok skimmed over their backs. He glanced over at Penelope.

"We've got to get back down into the trees," she muttered.

"We're just sitting targets up here in the open," Dalton agreed. Already, the hurroks were diving for another pass at them. The pages were already pressed against the rock; they couldn't evade danger by ducking lower again. Dalton, the only one carrying a bow, sprang into a kneeling position and fired at the central hurrok. He missed, but the hurroks were forced to swerve aside and away from the pages. The hurroks divided, two swept to the east and one to the west; they were clearly planning to attack from opposite directions.

"Mithros," Penelope hissed.

"Perry, Selina, Deric," Dalton said quickly, "You all need to climb down and get back under cover. Move fast and try to stay together. If you can, get back to the main camp so you can warn the others. I'll try to keep them busy and take a few out." They hesitated staring at him as though he'd grown fangs.

"Go," Penelope muttered, nudging Perry onto his knees. The hurroks were shrieking loudly as they circled. The three younger pages turned and began scooting down the rockside.

Dalton got to his feet, knocking another arrow to his bow. "Um, I need you to—"

"Guard your back," Penelope finished for him, standing, drawing her sword, and turning to face the lone hurrok. She took a deep breath and brought her sword into guard position.

All three hurroks dove at once. This time, Dalton managed to hit one. The arrow plunged deep into its chests and it plummeted earthwards with furious shrieks, catching its companion's wing so that the other hurrok had to veer off in another direction. The third hurrok clawed a deep gash in Penelope's arm just as she slashed into its neck. The two remaining hurroks flew away and began circling again.

"At least now it's a fair fight," Dalton muttered.

Penelope merely grunted in reply.

The two hurroks dove again. Dalton's arrow grazed one and Penelope managed to slay the other by slicing at its throat.

"Now," said Penelope quietly, "this is more of a fair fight. They're a lot bigger than us."

DDDD

It ended quite suddenly when Queenscove's arrow took down the final monster.

"We're still alive?" Penelope said wonderingly, as though the last brutally awkward week had never happened.

"I think so, anyway," Dalton replied as he turned around. Then he saw that her sleeve was already soaked in blood. "You're hurt."

"It's nothi—"

Dalton raised a hand to silence her; he wasn't quite ready to forgive her suicidal independent streak. "I know you just saved my life. And I probably saved yours. So don't try to feed me one of your instinctive invulnerable-page-girl-who-tells-us-all-it's-just-a-scratch-so-that-she-can-prove-she's-just-as-good-at-bleeding-to-death-as-all-the-big-strong-men lines. I'd just as soon skip that demonstration." He pulled off his tunic and wrapped it around her cut, staunching the heavy bleeding. "Let's get off this rock."

Penelope nodded faintly, the ghost of a smile chasing across her face as Dalton grabbed the elbow of her unwounded arm and began climbing down. She did not protest when he helped her over the fallen log. This would have worried him more than her ashy face if it hadn't been for the rueful smile she gave him afterwards.

DDDD

They were separated for the afternoon when Mindelan order them both to nap after their healings. They shared an indignant eye roll at this. And then she shot him several more rueful smiles over supper and nodded in agreement when he offered to get her more stew. So he realized the ice had been broken and resolved to act before they both froze up again. He got his chance when Mindelan assigned both of them to night sentry duty.

DDDD

"We're lucky none of us got sliced into bits this morning." Dalton spoke quietly as he and Penelope started on a third circuit of the campground. "I still can't quite believe we held the hurroks off for so long." He left the words hanging, knowing that Penelope would respond eventually.

"So," said Penelope, speaking quickly as she forced the words out into the almost-comfortable silence. "I realized this morning—things haven't been right between us since last week and—and I'm sorry I didn't--"

"There's no need to—"

"No, you've been trying to patch things up all week and I've been inexcusably rude. I really need to stop being such an idiot about needing to do everything on my own." She swallowed. "It's just hard having to prove to everyone that I'm tough enough to keep up when so many people are convinced I'm not worthy…"

"I'm not one of them," Dalton whispered. He glanced sideways at her.

"I know you're not. You've always been—sometimes I'm just so busy staying stubborn and strong that I forget it's really only nine of every ten people who are against me and not the whole world. And then I forget to behave decently to the good tenth. You didn't deserve my temper." She looked down and nudged a stick out of her path with the toe of her boot.

"You might try remembering that not everyone who offers to help you thinks you actually need assistance." Penelope shot him a questioning look and he gave her a little shrug before continuing. "Some of us try to lend you a hand because we respect you and agree with what you're trying to do and we see you as an equal. It's not meant to imply that you aren't capable—"

"But I can't be—"

Dalton reached out as he'd wanted to do for days and grabbed her shoulder to stop her pacing. "No, listen, if you weren't so busy trying to prove your own worthiness to yourself, you might realize that there are people who already believe you'll succeed."

"I know," Penelope muttered, and began walking again, without bothering to shake his hand from her shoulder.

"No, you don't know," Dalton told her. "People who care about you," he continued as though there had been no interruption, "people who admire how strong and beautiful you are—"

"I'm not," Penelope muttered, still staring at the ground.

Dalton stopped her again and turned her to face him; he had to reach across and grab her other shoulder to do it without disturbing her wounded arm. He took a deep breath and placed his fingers under her chin to lift it. "Yes," he said, "you are." He bent forwards slightly and kissed her, briefly and gently.

He lowered his fingers away from her quivering chin and took a step backwards.

"And clever," he continued, suddenly regretting the bewilderment he saw in her face. "And brave. And—"

"too stubborn and too scared to accept anything from anyone or admit the truth to myself," she muttered, lifting her hands to catch the one that was falling away from her chin. She stepped forwards and kissed him almost as fiercely as she'd been dueling him on the practice courts.

They jumped apart at a sound in the bushes beside them.

"What was that?" Dalton whispered.

"That was me not being a stubborn—"

"No, I meant," he muttered and gestured towards the bush.

"Oh, a rabbit, I think. We—we ought to keep walking our circuit."

Dalton nodded and held out his hand to her. She took his arm, grinning, and wrapped it over her shoulder. He pulled her close against his side before they continued walking.

"Did you mean what you—what you said just then?" Penelope asked.

"Yes," he said, turning and kissing her hair. "All of it. I think I've thought of you that way for—well, at least since last week—but you were so—I convinced myself I was just—and then this morning--"

"You saved our lives." She finished for him.

He shrugged. "I didn't really have time to consider the matter until after Queenscove shot the last one. And then I knew I couldn't pretend anymore."

"I um, realized a few things this morning too. I should have realized sooner…but I couldn't stop being an obstinate idiot and pushing you away last week because I was afraid that if I had any help, or got to close to anyone, I wouldn't be able to do things on my own any more. There's nothing like a little mortal peril to clarify certain…feelings."

"You almost make me glad they attacked," he muttered.

"I'm glad I was up there with you when they did," she said, twisting around to face him in a lightning movement. She kissed him before he could say another word.

DDDD

Dalton knew they were shirking their sentry duty. They were shuffling rather than walking in order to keep their arms around each other. But he couldn't bring himself to care. He would have been content to continue that way all night. Eventually, however, Penelope sighed reluctantly and obeyed her unreasonable perfectionism enough to step sideways so that they could walk normally. She kept her fingers tightly twined with his.

"I missed you," she murmured.

"My bruises from the past week tell a different story," he answered, surprised that he was willing to tease her. That kiss had changed everything and nothing; it had brought them back to the way things were before. They had their easy companionship back, only now he could pull her close. He did so again, to prove it to himself.

"Sorry," she mumbled, half-laughing, against his shirt. "Seriously, do you have any idea how many snide remarks about Gregory I stifled unspoken?" She took his hand again and tugged him back into walking. "Selina doesn't appreciate them the way you do." She sighed.

Dalton nodded. "And I suppose we completely lost track of the number of sentences Marcel began with 'my father'".

"Pity," Penelope muttered.

"So," Dalton said. "Next time we want to kiss, we should skip the preliminary week of unpleasant practice duels and the near death experience and just go for it. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Penelope murmured almost shyly, though the kiss she gave him afterwards was anything but shy.

They drew apart and continued walking in easy quiet until Penelope spoke. "Only there's my—"

He glanced at her drawn face.

"My reputation," she finished miserably.

"I know."

"I can't afford to—"

"I recall I said something earlier about believing in what you're doing and wanting to see you succeed."

She nodded hesitantly.

"That still holds." He ran his thumb over her knuckles. "Even more so actually. The last thing I want is for you to be kicked out. Especially not that I know what I'd be missing."

It was too dark to tell whether or not she was blushing but he strongly suspected it.

"So you know we can't—we'll have to be careful—we can't be seen like this together or—"

"We won't be _seen,_" he promised, not realizing or caring how difficult it would be. "But we will be together," he added, "like this." He held out his arms.

"Good," she said, stepping into his embrace. "It's not as if I got here by listening to people who told me what I ought to be doing."

He laughed and dropped his face to her braided hair, appreciating for the first time how wonderful it smelled—like her, only stronger, and softer, and sweeter…

"You were supposed to wake the next sentries a quarter hour ago."

They leapt apart, hearts hammering, at the sound of Mindelan's voice. Dalton blinked and saw that her husband and Queenscove were with her, both shooting him furtive smiles. This encouraged him to meet Mindelan's gaze straight on.

"Right then," Dalton said quickly. "We won't bother offering an excuse."

Queenscove nodded at him from behind Mindelan's back.

"We'll just go get them now then."

"Unless," Penelope put in quickly, "you'd like us to take the next shift as punishment."

"I'd like for you to wake the next sentries and then for each of you to _go to your own bedroll_."

"Really, Kel," her husband muttered setting a hand on her shoulder, winking at Dalton. "It's not as though—there's no need to reinforce ideas in their heads with prurient orders."

Mindelan turned to shoot her husband one of her severe looks and Dalton tugged at Penelope's wrist, pulling her into a sensible and orderly retreat, which was interrupted only once by the briefest of kisses.

_So, hope you enjoyed! I've never written so much from Dalton's perspective but he was a very good sport about it. One more page chapter before I bounce ahead to their squire years…_


	3. Holding Back

_Thanks to my readers for all of their wonderful reviews. I'm so glad you're enjoying this—I am to and plan to continue (though Love and Money) even though I should be doing other things. This corresponds roughly to chapter 7 of TMM. Penelope and Dalton are just about to finish their pages years! Real estate and recognizable characters belong to Tamora Pierce. _

Dalton swung and Penelope raised her practice sword to meet his. Instead of meeting his sword with a hard clack as she had expected it to, her blade skittered awkwardly over his so that she had to take a step forwards to keep her balance. She slipped sideways and jabbed half-heartedly at him.

Not that it mattered. Dalton dodged her sword but swept his blade overhead just a hair too slowly. She ducked easily under it, pressing forward until her sword point kissed his neck.

The other pages dutifully applauded the end of their duel. Even Marcel and Gregory were clapping because they had finished their last morning of practice as pages. Tomorrow, once they passed their trials, they would become squires. Penelope merely shrugged. It didn't mean anything. It had been too easy—he'd been too easy on her.

PPPP

She was still grooming her horse—or rather running the brush studiously over her already gleaming horse—when Dalton slipped into the stall and tapped her shoulder.

She turned, intending to let him know just how she felt about what he'd done on the practice court, and found herself gazing wordlessly into his patient green eyes. It was only when he cupped his fingers around her arms to pull her forwards for a kiss that she stiffened her shoulders.

"I checked," he said quickly, "they've all gone on to lunch." He lowered his face towards her and noticed her pinched lips.

Dalton sighed. It had been months since the morning at fall camp when Dom had taken him aside and told him that was "clearly already a hopeless case" but that if he were "very patient—by which I mean determined to put up with a really stubborn woman" he might wind up "very happy". They'd learned how to keep their relationship an unmentioned open secret among their fellow pages. Penelope had survived a kidnapping attempt and he'd learned—admittedly with limited success—how to pretend he wasn't worried about her. Still, he didn't like the tight set of her jaw.

"What?" he whispered.

She sighed and stepped out of his grip. "You were holding back on me out there."

"Obviously," he muttered. "What do you expect me to do? Gut you with a practice sword?"

"Just treat me like everybody else," she snapped, unable to decide whether she was angrier at Dalton or at herself. She curled her fingers tightly around the brush.

"So I'm supposed to imitate Marcel and take a foul swipe at your head during the bows?" He pointed to the spectacular purple blotch on her cheekbone. "You should have Queenscove take a look at that by the way."

"You should fight me the way you fight everybody else—to win."

"It's not as if I cheat for it," Dalton said so harshly that her horse sidestepped.

"I never impli—"Penelope realized she was nearly shouting and bit her lip to stop herself. "I know," she whispered. "You're just so decent."

"It isn't easy," Dalton croaked, surprising both of them with the admission. "Some days I just want—especially when I know what they—" But he refused to repeat the things he'd heard said about her in the men's baths. He found his fingers curling into fists.

Something in his eyes made Penelope drop her brush and dive blindly at his chest.

Dalton opened his arms just in time to wrap them around her but still had to take a step backwards to keep them from being knocked over. Still, there was something steadying about holding her against him.

"Nothing much is easy," she murmured against his chest. "Especially not the difficult worthwhile things."

"Like us," he muttered, tucking back a lock of hair that had tumbled free of her braid.

"Among other things."

"You know," Dalton said after a brief silence, "it would be a lot easier to attack you full force if you paid me the same courtesy."

There was an even longer—but not entirely uncomfortable since she remained wrapped in Dalton's arms—silence during which Penelope admitted to herself that she'd been holding back on Dalton.

"Oh," she murmured finally. "I'm impossible, aren't I?"

Dalton chuckled. "Endearingly so, I'm afraid." He dropped his lips to the top of scalp and murmured, "but we aren't going to break each other."

Penelope nodded against his chest. "We'll fight full out and make one another better."

"Good," Dalton muttered, poking his knee into the back of her legs to unbalance her.

She realized what he intended just in time to grab his arm and twist so that they tumbled together out of the stall onto a pile of clean hay.

Neither of them held back—from laughing or wrestling—this time and it wasn't long before Dalton had Penelope pinned beneath him. This created a very sudden and intense silence. Dalton loosened his grip immediately but did not move. The silence continued, filled with slow, mesmerizing blinks and hammering heartbeats. Neither of them seemed to be breathing.

Penelope was suddenly very aware of the fact that he would probably almost always best her in a weaponless fight and very conscious of the gentleness in his eyes.

Dalton was awed by the fearlessness in her gaze and the strong tension in her shoulders. Then she twitched suddenly and they were both on their sides, faces still quite close together.

"Hey," he muttered, smiling briefly as he stretched forward to kiss her.

"Hey," she murmured back as they disentangled their legs.

"Hay is quite the evocative substance, isn't it? Especially where squires are concerned."

They both sat bolt upright and gaped at the Wildmage, who carried her infant son on one hip. She nodded at them in greeting.

"People—two-leggers in particular—tend to make assumptions about hay. Which is ironic given what goes on in the Riders' grain room." She smirked cheerfully as they scrambled to their feet. "And the fact that fresh grass is far more comfortable."

"We weren't—" Dalton started.

Penelope stepped forwards. "Is there any way we could persuade you not to—"

"Your horses like you," the Wildmage said simply. "Kel and I will probably only have time to discuss Tobe's progress next time we meet. Good luck at your trials tomorrow." She nodded at them again and marched out the stable doors.

They glanced sideways at one another, realized they were late for lunch, and started for the opposite doors.

"Why'd you loosen your grip?" she murmured, still blushing.

Dalton shrugged. "It seemed like the best way to keep you close."

"Oh," Penelope said slowly, realizing the truth of what he'd said. She tilted her head sideways against his arm, aware that they would have to step apart when they left the shelter of the stable.

"About that," Dalton muttered. "I didn't mean to—I hope you weren't—"

"It's okay," Penelope murmured. Because it was, even though she was reliving—and almost regretting—her awkward conversation with Mindelan on the morning of fall camp, the one in which she'd promised not to let her relationship with Dalton go far enough to endanger her future.

She glanced again at Dalton. Both their cheeks were burning. But with his fingers wrapped warmly around hers, she felt brave enough to turn and face him.

"I'm not ready—" she hesitated but he reached over to grip her elbow gently with his free hand. "Earning my knighthood has to come first."

"I'm not here for a quick tumble in the hay," he said gravely.

"Really?" she asked, though she knew he meant it—he'd proven it in the past year. She dared a teasing glance back at the pile.

He chuckled. "Certainly not with anyone but you and not until--"They reached the door and he stopped to kiss her brow. "But perhaps we'd should avoid that particular kind of duel for a few years." He swallowed. "I'm not sure we're that good at holding back."

She nodded and took a deep breath as though to inhale the comfortable silence that had fallen between them now that nothing lurked unspoken.

"You know," he muttered. "We're extremely late for lunch."

Penelope shrugged. "Race you."

PPPP

Two weeks later Penelope sat cross-legged on the floor of Dalton's room in the page wing, watching him pack the last of his clothing.

"This is so strange," he muttered.

"I think it will be even stranger once Mindelan tells us who our knight-masters are."

He nodded. "I just hope—"

"Dalton." Mindelan interrupted, appearing his open door. "I'd like a word."

He nodded, closed his packing, and stood with his hands behind his back. Penelope stood to leave.

"Oh, Penelope," Mindelan muttered. "I didn't realize you were here."

"Why else would he have left the door open?" Queenscove muttered, appearing beside her. "Not," he added impishly, "that you always left my door open."

Penelope gaped at her training master, who glared sharply at Queenscove so that Penelope had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. She nodded a goodnight at Dalton and made to slip out the door.

Queenscove's hand snaked out to grab her shoulder. "Might as well tell them both at once. Especially since we're dragging them to Pirates' Swoop with us."

Penelope gasped—glad to hear she'd be staying with Dalton for a few more weeks and going to the Swoop, the Lioness's home—and then frowned in puzzlement because she knew the Lioness would never be allowed to take a female squire.

"Don't get too excited," Queenscove told her. "I'm afraid we're stuck together."

"Thank you, Neal," Mindelan muttered, "for putting it so succinctly." She turned to Dalton. "And you'll be Lady Alanna's squire."

Dalton nodded, swallowed, and glanced at Penelope.

Queenscove finally released her shoulder and offered her his hand to shake. His grip was firm but not aggressive. And there was a smile lurking in his serious expression.

"I take it this was her idea then," Penelope said.

He nodded. "And, loathe though I am to admit it, probably one of her better ones."

Penelope blinked at the round-about compliment from the training master's cynical friend. "I suppose we'll just have to play along then," she told him.

"It's the best way to keep her from thinking up any unpleasant alternatives," he informed her with mock gravity.

Then he gave a business-like nod. "So, l think it will best if you take a room in the squires' wing—that gives the gossips less material to hold over us and will let you at least sleep through the night while Yuki and I are up with the new baby. And let me know whatever you need equipment-wise—I'll want to get any purchases out of the way before we leave for the Swoop."

"Very good, sir. I don't think I need much beyond new boots. And what was that about Mindelan closing your door?"

"A story for the road," he answered as Mindelan seized his shirt and dragged him from the room.

"You've got about ten minutes before the curfew bell rings," she reminded them, checking to make sure the door stayed open.

"Sorry," Dalton muttered as soon as they had left. "I didn't—"

"Don't be," Penelope said, coming to stand just before him. "Queenscove's going to tell me all about Mindelan's wayward youth during leisurely cross-country rides—"she took his hands and rocked back on her heals, letting him hold her up—"whilst you suffer under the Lioness's legendary temper."

"You aren't jealous?"

She tilted her head to one side. "Of you—only mildly. Of her—very." She tilted her head to the other side. "She won't have to wait until mid-winter to see you."

"So," he said lightly. "You've only been pretending you won't miss me."

"And botching the job," she said trying to blink back her sudden tears. She pulled herself into his arms, burying her face against his shirt.

Dalton lifted his hands to wrap them around her shoulders. She yawned peacefully against his chest. He smiled sadly and held her until the bell rang.

She stepped away and scowled at the ceiling.

"I still think I might have the better deal," he said.

"How's that?"

" 'Mindelan's wayward youth'—she's so conscientious—aside from her unexpected baby. I don't think there can be much left for Queenscove to tell."

She smiled and stepped forward for a last kiss. "You're just jealous."

"Of Queenscove—absolutely."

_Little do they know what lies ahead…But I can tell you that the next episode will take place at Pirates' Swoop. Oh, and feel free to drop a review and let me know if there's a particular scene/ chapter/ in between moment in TMM or L and M that you want me to revisit. No promises, but I'll see what I can do Silverlake_


	4. Summer at the Swoop

_Thanks to my amazing reviewers! (FFNet isn't letting my reply to reviews at the moment, but Yes the character alliteration in the title is intentional—it was originally going to be Pride and Perseverance because I'm a huge Austen fan, but I thought Dalton deserved more credit—and you'll be seeing a bit more of Tobe in this update). Tortall belongs to Tamora Pierce. The Odyssey is traditionally credited to Homer and I'm not going to dispute that here… _

Since they traveled with Mindelan, Queenscove, and the Wildmage's children, their journey from Corus to the Swoop was a leisurely one. Penelope still felt restless—she wanted to get farther away from the palace with all its constraints and expectations when they stopped to make camp at mid-afternoon.

She went with Dalton to gather firewood. They walked in easy silence, working quickly to finish the task, and both came back with full arms and sweaty brows. Still Penelope felt oddly unencumbered—she was used to having things to do. And the fact that Queenscove and his wife—not to mention all the children—were asleep kept her from complaining about it.

Tobe, however, seemed to feel the same way as he sat on a log and scraped quietly at the ground with the heel of his boot, politely averting his eyes from the Wildmage, who was nursing baby Rikash.

"Hey Daine?" he whispered finally. "Can we go to the creek?"

"Of course," she muttered absently, still gazing at Rikash with motherly reverence. "I'm not your chaperone."

Dalton caught Penelope's eye and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing or blushing as they stood to follow Tobe.

"Don't drown," Numair murmured without lifting his eyes from his book as they stepped over his long outstretched legs on their way to the water.

Penelope just heard Daine mutter in reply, "you don't handle that well, do you?"

They stopped beside a still, deep-looking patch of creek and sat at the rocks beside it. Dalton and Tobe peeled off their shirts. Penelope scowled jealously, stripped off her tunic, undid the top few buttons on her shirt—Dalton, who almost never saw her out of uniform, watched this rather boldly and Penelope glanced back boldly but stopped short of revealing anything unseemly—and rolled up her sleeves.

Dalton and Tobe struck up a conversation about his horse. Penelope sat, still feeling irritable and sweaty, for two minutes before inspiration struck. Then she pulled off her boots and socks, rolled her trousers up over her knees, and dropped her ankles into the icy water. She giggled as the current tickled her soles; realized suddenly that she was free of Marcel's scornful gaze and the daily monotony of the pages' schedule; and found that she could not stop laughing.

Tobe appraised her as though she were a skittish horse he needed to reign in. "Are you going to cry next?"

Penelope might have managed to catch her breath and answer him if Dalton had not set a concerned hand on her back. As it was, his fingers—warm through her shirt—caught the ticklish spot at the bottom of her ribs and she let out another helpless burst of giggles. So she merely shook her head in reply and splashed a little water on her face.

Happy, serene, and no longer overheated, she pulled up her feet and watched somewhat smugly as Dalton dropped his own bare feet in the water and flinched at the cold.

"You're sure you're not going to cry next?" Tobe asked, pulling off his own boots. "Kel does that sometimes."

"Quite." Penelope, with only mildly heroic effort, bit off another laugh, which would surely have alarmed them. Almost, she wished for Selina—who would have understood perfectly and joined in her laughter. That was the trouble with having Dalton double as best-friend and sweetheart: there were some things he simply didn't get.

After she'd had time to consider Tobe's words, she added, "Mindelan doesn't have hysterics."

Tobe shrugged. "Not very often. Only when Dom's been gone too long." He shrugged again. "She does all kinds of things that might surprise you."

Dalton blinked at Penelope. "That was hysterics?"

"That was mild," Penelope assured him.

"I'm surprised it isn't warmer," Tobe muttered, sticking his toes in the creek.

"It's just the contrast with the sun," Penelope said.

"It might even be swimable," Dalton agreed.

"I wonder how deep it is." Penelope stuck her ankles back in the creek.

"Let us know," Tobe said, just Dalton's hands slid under her arms and toppled her gently off the rocks and into the creek.

It was cold enough to make her let out an embarrassingly girlish shriek. But she regained some dignity by soundly cursing Tobe, Dalton, and the creek—in between gasps and sputters—as soon as she'd surfaced. Her body adjusted quickly and her brain began to plot revenge.

She held up a hand to Dalton, who took it instantly, wrapping his warm fingers around her cold ones.

"Here," he murmured, starting to drag her out.

Penelope jerked backwards, ducking underwater and pulling him in with her.

He came up laughing, still holding her hand, and he pulled her close to kiss her. Penelope figured she'd already be in trouble for misbehaving in front of Mindelan and kissed him back.

To her astonishment, Mindelan traded mischievous glances with her husband, who had already thrown Tobe in, and then jumped in herself. Penelope's estimation of her sense of humor surged.

They all jumped in surprise, not recognizing the Wildmage when she hit the water in frog form. And Penelope's suspicion—that all the rules that applied in Corus were suddenly null and void—was confirmed.

They splashed and shrieked like six-year-olds until Queenscove called them to dinner and then they climbed out of the creek, soaked and starving.

If Marcel or Gregory had been there, she might have worried about the way her wet clothing—thankfully dark enough not to have become transparent—clung to her figure, which was small enough to be mostly obscured by her usual training clothes. Queenscove and Tobe seemed completely oblivious to her appearance. Domitan had eyes only for Mindelan. And Numair was carrying his own rabbit-shaped wife. Dalton did look. But this, Penelope realized, made her blush with pleasure rather than embarrassment. And in any case, she was too busy gazing at Dalton's bare shoulders to protest.

At least until Mindelan turned suddenly and appraised them both with a mind-reading, blush-inducing look. Shaking her head, she draped a blanket over Penelope with motherly hands and pushed her into a patch of trees to change. Penelope concluded that Mindelan had eyes in the back of her head and a carefully moderated sense of mischief.

PDPD

This was the first of many unexpected summer lessons. Penelope also realized that the Lioness was indeed human even as Alanna taught her own to disarm larger opponents before they could take advantage of their size.

She took on a centaur and learned to avoid the failing hooves. And that Dalton's arms were a good place to catch her calm after a battle.

She took care of Queenscove and Mindelan's daughters for an afternoon and concluded that small children were louder, more violent, and more terrifying than most immortals. And that anti-pregnancy charms were the most valuable magical device after the Dominion Jewel. Not that she'd used either.

She discovered that Dalton was ticklish in his left elbow—but not his right—and that the oak tree behind the Swoop stables was an excellent place to be kiss (assuming, of course, that the Lioness and her husband weren't already embracing beneath it). She also found that she could easily fit into an armchair with Dalton (as long as she didn't mind draping her legs over one arm) and that they could get away with sitting this way at the Swoop because it ran on different rules.

And she perfected an impudent pronunciation of 'sir' to address Queenscove with.

"Look," he told her finally. " I'd just as soon not be called Queenscove—it sounds like the queen is my mistress or something—but if you're going to cut me down to a single syllable, I'd rather go by Neal. Fewer sibilant sounds for you to fill with cheek."

"I could never address you with such bold informality, sir," she protested.

But she managed some of the time because she was beginning to understand why Mindelan liked and trusted him so well. There was a compassionate and loyal chivalry tucked behind the melodramatic sarcasm.

Penelope barely even noticed the first time Neal slung his arm round her shoulders on the walk back from the stables because she was too busy teasing him about the unlikelihood of his looking distinguished with grey hair. And then it seemed as though they'd always walked together that way.

"In any case," Dalton added as he took her arm at the door. "I suspect you'll worry him into several grey hairs and then we'll all be able to judge for ourselves."

"You never know," Neal said darkly. "I might go bald just to spite all of you."

Penelope squinted at him and shook her head. "You don't have the beer gut for it."

"Perfect match," someone—Penelope thought it was George—muttered. Penelope wasn't sure which pair he was referring to but decided she agreed anyway.

Her month at the Swoop flew by so quickly that she had almost no time to dread leaving it.

PDPD

Dalton gave up on sleep the night before Penelope was due to leave with Queenscove and padded barefoot and shirtless from his new room for a walk around the walls of the Swoop.

He'd half expected to find Penelope already gazing out towards the sea, but the sight of her surprised him slightly. She was also barefoot, her calves appearing suddenly beneath the hem of blue nightgown.

"This is rare," he murmured, lifting a lock of her hair, which hung loose against her shoulder blades.

She lifted her elbows off the wall and turned to face him, her eyes widening momentarily as she realized how little they were both wearing. "Not really. I let it down most nights—it's usually halfway tumbled out by then anyway—and braid it up first thing in the morning. I know I should probably chop it all off but I'm just too stubborn to—"

"Don't," Dalton said. "I'd like to see it again at midwinter."

Penelope smiled and they turned together to gaze out, their elbows resting side-by-side on the wall. Her hair fell in a curtain between them and he lifted a hand to tuck it back.

"I'm not sure you'll ever stop surprising me," he muttered, running a few gleaming strands through his fingers.

"I suppose I'd have to stop surprising myself first," she murmured, turning to plant her forehead against his bare shoulder. Her skin was warm but her hair fell cool and soft against his arm.

"There's your name, for instance, and the way you're nothing like your namesake."

She lifted her head. "You mean the one who waited all those years for her husband Odysseus to come home?"

"That one," he agreed. "She was kind of an idiot."

"More than 'kind of'. I've never understood why she didn't just go out and find him." She tilted her head thoughtfully at the sea. "Then again I've never understood why she wanted him back since he was too stupid to find his way home and too arrogant to ask for directions."

Dalton smiled. "You do realize there wouldn't be much story to tell if he'd done that?"

"Exactly, it would be a short fable about traveling safely so that you can get back to the one you love."

Dalton's breath caught and Penelope's eyes widened as she realized what she'd said.

"Indeed," he murmured.

"I—" Dalton silenced her lips with his fingers.

"I will if you will," he whispered, drawing her into his arms so that she turned to face him.

"Agreed," she murmured, lifting her face to kiss him.

"Promise?" he stepped back and traced her cheekbones with his thumbs, wiping away the silent tears that she was bravely ignoring.

"Promise." She turned and settled her back against his chest, pulling his arms about her waist so that they stood wrapped together to watch the moon pull the tide out.

_I think I'll just leave them there for now—I don't have the heart to end by sending them in separate directions. Apologies to any diehard Odyssey fans I've managed to offend—though I've noticed during several dining table battles that feelings for that particular epic tend to be divided along gender lines. I hope to post another chapter this weekend before I fly home. _


	5. Separate Season

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time—you've got a healthy dose of Neal-Penelope argumentation coming up. As always, real estate and recognizable characters belong to Tamora Pierce. _

After Neal and Mindelan and Penelope departed, Dalton was sent to scour Alanna's chain mail while she saw to a healing in the village. George found him doing a furiously effective job.

"She isn't an easy woman to love," he muttered.

Dalton paused in his scouring long enough to raise his eyebrows at George.

George shrugged. "Well, actually, she was very easy to fall for. She's just very difficult to let go."

Dalton nodded, slightly unnerved by the Lioness's uncanny husband.

George recognized something in Dalton's gaze and took pity on him.

"She almost never wears that you know," he said.

"Why am I cleaning it then?" Dalton asked, stopping.

"Like I said, she isn't an easy woman to love." He shrugged. "She just wanted to keep your hands busy."

Dalton frowned at his scouring sand.

"Oh course, I was a sharp lad once myself." George grinned. "I know that occupying your mind is more likely to keep you out of trouble. Which is why you're going to spend the morning learning the skills of a professional pickpocket."

"From you?" Dalton stood up.

"I wouldn't tell her that precisely."

Dalton smirked. "Tell her what?"

PPPP

Penelope sighed and managed to turn the map right side up at last.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," Neal murmured teasingly over her shoulder.

"And leads the eyes to wander," Penelope shot back.

"Giving lusty squires much to ponder," Neal continued.

Penelope was too busy tracing their route with her finger to find another rhyme.

"Wandering eyes indeed," Neal muttered. "Poor Dalton's going to find himself competing with the trees of Trant."

"Forest!" Penelope snapped. "We're lost in the gods-cursed forest with nothing for supper."

"We're turned around amidst the trees and feeling a bit peckish," Neal corrected, frowning at the map.

Penelope scowled. "I'm supposed to be the impudent optimist."

"Well be impudent and optimistic then."

"That's hardly a polite way to ask for directions," Penelope hissed, turning to address the approaching rider.

"Excuse me, sir," she said. "Could you tell us the way to the inn at Grenhollow?"

He nodded and gave sensible sounding directions. Then he turned to Neal and said, "you ought to feed your squire up some. He looks awfully short and scrawny."

Neal merely nodded at him and whispered to Penelope, "and you trust him to see the forest for the trees?"

She shrugged and they remounted their horses to follow his directions.

"I suppose this is rather hopeless," Neal said after another mile. "I don't see how it can get any worse."

"Nonsense, sir, it might be raining." Penelope's words were followed by an ominous peal of thunder and Neal turned to glare at her.

"Or snowing," she added impishly.

"Don't give them any ideas," Neal muttered glancing at the sky.

"But in any case, I'm sure the inn's just around the bend," Penelope conceded, smiling innocently.

"And it probably has lots of mice and no vacant rooms," Neal muttered.

And, to Neal's great annoyance, their predictions were almost true. A nasty mix of rain and snow began to fall as soon as they stepped inside the inn, which had a mouse problem and one single room remaining.

"My squire and I will share then," Neal informed the innkeeper, scowling as he watched the man's eyebrows—which had begun rising the moment Penelope shrugged out of her cloak—disappear into his disheveled hair. "She will require a spare pallet."

"Of course," the innkeeper muttered dubiously. "She'll have to carry it up herself then—I haven't any hands to spare."

Penelope did so and dropped it rather violently on the floor beside Neal's bed, startling several mice back into their holes.

"I'm sorry," Neal muttered. "I hope you don't mind."

"What? The mice? Nothing we can do about them—the innkeeper ought to get a cat."

"The innkeeper's sordid imagination," Neal said.

Penelope shrugged. "We look—I mean, it's not an entirely unnatural assumption—it's bound to happen." She grabbed a pillow from the bed and dropped it onto her pallet. "I've heard worse."

"Kel certainly did," Neal said, taking a blanket from his bed and spreading it on her pallet. "People said all sorts of things about Raoul when they had adjoining rooms."

Penelope shrugged again and then frowned thoughtfully. "So how is this worse than our sharing a tent?" she asked.

Neal blinked.

"Sordidly speaking, I mean, I know you're more likely to snore indoors."

He pointed to the bed. "Thankfully some people limit the geographic scope of their overactive imaginations."

"How terribly dull," Penelope muttered as they started down the steps for supper. "I almost feel sorry for them."

DDDD

It took five arrows to kill the tauros. Alanna dismounted as the monster fell and ran to check on its victims. Dalton tied up their horses and trotted after her.

One of them had hair just like Penelope's—the same golden brown tendrils tumbling from a disheveled braid. She was dead and naked; bloody, bruised, and muddied.

Dalton swallowed back bile and tore off his cloak, draping it over her body.

Alanna meanwhile was crouched beside the other girl, watching the bloody bubbles that formed over her lips with each struggling breath.

"Go back to the village," she ordered Dalton as she gathered her healing gift. "Tell them we've killed it and send someone up with a wagon. Then inform the families."

Getting a wagon sent back wasn't difficult—there was a group of anxious villagers awaiting news at the inn—but finding the dead woman's family took half an hour of delicate knocking and questioning. When he finally found her father—her only family—the grief and hope on his face confirmed his identity before Dalton asked his name.

"Is she—"he croaked.

Dalton hesitated, realizing just how utterly unprepared for this moment he was. He had no idea what to say. Then he realized that his hesitation was building up the man's hopes and shook his head quickly and let the awful words fall from his mouth.

"We were too late. She'd been beaten to death by the time we arrived." He could not lie and say it had been quick or painless; he did not need to add that she'd been raped.

"I'm sorry," he added, marveling at the inadequacy that could be packed into two words.

The man's face crumpled and he swung suddenly at Dalton.

Dalton didn't duck. At first it was because he didn't think the man would actually hit him. Then it was because he was too stunned from the force of the first blow to dodge the second. And then it was because he realized that the pain from his black eye and broken nose had driven the image of her battered body from his mind. Even if he had been too late.

DDDD

Eventually Alanna showed up and dragged the father away to collapse sobbing in a chair.

"I'm impressed," she muttered as they left.

Dalton blinked at her and then vomited onto his boots.

"And not in a good way," she added, pulling him towards the inn where they planned to stay the night. "Even Queenscove never took his acts of noble stupidity to such an idiotic extreme."

Dalton wasn't sure how to answer and, in any case, his face hurt too much to manage speaking. He let the Lioness drag him to the corner by her fire and watched her glare at the crowd gathered in the inn's sitting room until they all decided they had urgent business elsewhere.

"There will be a next time," she said pushing him into a chair. "We cannot save everyone. Sometimes we are too weak, too slow, too late. You can't save everyone. You have to learn to live with that."

"But I can't just—"

She covered lips fingers that were already thrumming with healing magic. "You are going to hold very still," she informed him, taking his nose with other hand. "This is going to hurt."

It did.

"Very much," she clarified.

That was also true. So true that the room went black to a moment and he woke to find himself stretched across the floor. His black eye and broken nose were healed and his loosened teeth were secure in his mouth once more.

"You were right though," she muttered, offering him a hand up, "we can't stop trying to save them all."

"Thanks," Dalton whispered.

Alanna nodded and motioned for the serving girl to bring them tea. "Next time, you'll duck. It's not cowardice—it's commonsense."

Dalton nodded his ascent and watched numbly as the serving girl brought two mugs of tea. Something about her appearance reminded him of…

"That other girl—did she make it?" Dalton was fairly certain he knew what the answer would be even before he asked.

"She didn't want to." Alanna sighed, pulled out a flask of brandy, and dumped a bit into both mugs. She passed him one and they sat silently waiting for the tea to cool.

"We'll be in Corus soon for midwinter," she said, and her tone was such that Dalton knew she was deliberately changing the subject. "But then, I imagine you've been counting the days longer than I have."

Dalton nodded and took a sip of tea to hide the silly grin that overtook his face at the thought of seeing Penelope again.

"You must think I'm young and foolish," he muttered when they were halfway through their tea, "to trust that our feelings won't have changed."

Alanna shook her head. "I've plenty of other proof that you're young and foolish. Today's demonstration for instance." She shrugged and downed the rest of her lukewarm tea in one swallow. "George was the first man who ever kissed me. I was a squire."

Dalton swallowed the wrong way, triggering a long coughing fit. Alanna watched with a mild expression and poured a bit more brandy into her own mug.

"Sometimes you meet them early—it's not something you get to plan." She sipped thoughtfully at her brandy. "George wasn't the only man I kissed—or bedded—or loved even. But he was always there—scaring me sometimes with the care in his eyes—waiting for me to come to my senses."

Dalton swallowed and decided this was not a good moment to ask about the rumors surrounding Alanna and the king. She'd probably answer him with more honest detail than he could handle hearing.

"But George was always first. First to see me for who I really was and to love me for it. First to propose. First to take me seriously—but not too seriously—when I said no. And it took me a few years, but I eventually realized I didn't want him anywhere else."

"He is dead useful," Dalton muttered absently, finishing off his own tea.

"I was an especially foolish young squire," she admitted. "Probably because I was a boy."

Dalton grinned in spite of himself. There was one problem Penelope didn't have.

_Oops! Not quite sure where all the angst came from. Exams perhaps. I promise plenty of midwinter fluff in the next episode—which should be up in a few days—to make up for it. _


	6. Long Midwinter

Neal reached out and grabbed Penelope's forearm before she darted away

_First off, many thanks to my absolutely awesome reviewers—and look for additional alliteration later—you pushed me to finish finals and favor fluff. This chapter contains several of Tamora Pierce's characters as well as dialogue from chapters 10 and 11 of Training Master Mindelan. Bon appetite! _

Penelope smiled and nearly laughed aloud with relief when Lady Alanna and Dalton, who met her eyes immediately, entered the crowded ballroom. Despite their occasional letters, she realized, she hadn't quite trusted that he was all right—and that he would still want… But then he winked at her and she started towards him immediately.

Neal reached out and grabbed Penelope's forearm. "Careful," he reminded her, "the last thing you need right now is malicious gossip. You aren't at Pirate's Swoop anymore."

"Thanks," Penelope whispered, freeing her arm and forcing herself to walk to Lady Alanna instead of running to Dalton. Neal was right and he wasn't even being smug about it this time.

PDPD

Penelope met Dalton's eyes as she bowed formally to Lady Alanna and glanced quickly at a cluster of middle-aged conservatives who were eyeing her carefully. He gave her a tiny nod and stepped forward to shake her hand.

"I hope to have the honor of a mock duel, soon Lady Penelope," he said carefully. He too glanced at the conservatives and decided not to kiss her hand though he held her fingers longer than was proper.

"The honor will be mine," Penelope answered smoothly, forming the hand signal for "outside" before her leg.

"Perhaps, tomorrow morning," he returned, signaling "tree" and "me first".

Penelope focused on making polite conversation with the Lioness to keep from following Dalton with her eyes. It was simply ridiculous; there was nothing romantic or exciting about it. How did other noblewomen manage endless covert meetings? She and Dalton had grown used to straightforward companionship at Pirate's Swoop; sweaty kisses behind the stables after practice and open conversation as they studied. She felt naked before so many courtiers—all of them seemed to be waiting for her to trip up.

PDPD

Dalton wrapped his cloak tightly about his shoulders as he reached the apple tree in the back garden and blinked up at the sky. It looked like snow. He sat down next to it to wait for Penelope. And to worry. She'd seemed so weary when she'd greeted him; and she'd been laughing so happily with Queenscove just beforehand. Could she have…But then, Queenscove was her knight master, and she had wanted to see him outside.

There was a noise in the bushes and he stood quickly. Penelope seemed to come out of nowhere and collide with him, wrapping her arms about him and burying her face against his chest. He laughed with relief and spun her about before setting her down to kiss her.

He ignored the tears streaming down her cheeks, knowing she wouldn't want them mentioned, but he winced when he felt the tension in her shoulders and the sharpness of her backbone. She frowned as she wrapped her arms around him again, and he knew that she noticed his own prominent ribs. It had been a difficult winter for both of them.

"We don't need to ask each other how we are, then," she whispered, setting her cheek over his heart as he pulled her closer.

"No," he said, as they sat side by side on the bench. "Why don't we start by listing the Immortals we didn't see?" he added, trying to speak lightly.

"Hurroks," she said simply.

"Me too, maybe we've earned ourselves a bit of a reputation."

She half-smiled and laid her head against his shoulder. "The worst were the Spidren," she said quietly. "Neal and I were sent out to rescue the boy they'd captured …we didn't make it in time." She leapt up and began pacing restlessly as she spoke.

"I never thought I was squeamish about blood, but then they dropped his body out in front of us and there was so much of it…"

Dalton gripped the edges of the bench to keep himself from reaching out to grab her arm and pulling her to him as he listened to her jumbled account of the skirmish.

"…it was horrible though; I actually liked killing them, there was something so, so satisfying about it—I kept hacking at them even after they were all dead. Everyone—all the men who'd come to help us—stared at me after like I was some sort of creature too." She shivered as soon as she'd finished speaking. Her neck was covered in gooseflesh.

"We've all got a little monster in us. When we were attacking centaurs I always went for the human part instead of the horse part. There was something more innocent about their animal ends, but I could always hate their faces when I thought about what they had done." Realizing that she had no cloak, Dalton lifted the edge of his and nodded at her. "They wouldn't have cared so much if you were a boy; lots of soldiers get swept up in battle rage."

"I know," she whispered as she scooted under his arm and he pulled the cloak tight around both of them. "But I'm not allowed to become a monster; I'm supposed to be gentler and nobler and quieter than all of that."

"Who says? And you're not allowed to answer 'I say' or 'everyone says'." He took her hands and spun her off the bench.

She shook with silent laughter and he lifted a hand to tweak her nose and brush a stray strand of hair away from her face.

"How do you always know the right thing to say?"

"You're just a generous listener," he said. He wrapped both arms around her and kissed her, ignoring her icy nose. "I don't always know what to say," he added soberly as she stepped back, "most of the time I don't have any idea. I had to tell a man his daughter had been killed by a tauros last week. There aren't any words for that kind of thing; so I just blurted it out and let him punch me."

He did not add that the victim had resembled Penelope or that he'd welcomed the distraction of her father's beating. But she seemed to sense it anyway; her hands tightened around his and she pulled him close for a moment before leading him farther along the garden path.

"It's something of a relief, being an orphan," she admitted. "Knowing my parents won't ever have to get news like that. It makes me feel better about risking everything." She shuddered again. "It's been a nightmare, but I can't imagine quitting. I couldn't just walk away from all of this."

Dalton sighed. He could imagine it, imagine running home and hiding behind a desk for the rest of his days. He knew he wouldn't, but still, it was tempting. "You are a most remarkable creature," he told Penelope as they sat with their backs against a tree. The ground was cold and the roots were hard, but they were mostly out of sight.

"You're rather inspiring yourself," she answered, settling against him.

"An old habit, I suppose," he muttered absently, tucking the cloak about them both and brushing his lips against her temple.

Penelope sighed and closed her eyes. She breathed slowly and deeply, determined to take in Dalton's smell, a scent she hadn't realized existed until she'd missed it. Horses and leather, strength and steel, and sunlit woods even in winter…

PDPD

They both startled and shot to their feet when Neal shook them awake. Penelope kept a defiant grip on Dalton's hand, torn between anger at herself for falling asleep and at Neal for disturbing them. Even though she knew that spending a night with Dalton under a snow-covered tree would be detrimental to both health and reputation. She frowned, wishing for a way to turn back time and make the moment last longer.

Neal shrugged almost sympathetically and made no move to scold or punish them. "I knew I'd be playing fairy godmother when I took you on. Besides, I'd hate to have rumors going around that my illicit young mistress was cheating on me. Just see to it that certain Lady Knights don't hear about any more of my shortcomings."

Dalton kissed Penelope's cheek and shook Neal's hand—trying to convey as much gratitude and responsibility as possible—before hurrying away, leaving knight and squire blinking awkwardly, but not unhappily, at one another.

PDPD

Midwinter's morning passed in a delightful blur of sword practice with Lady Alanna—who disarmed her easily on the third attempt, thereby winning Neal several bets—Dalton—who was clearly learning a lot from her—Mindelan—who obviously relished the opportunity to make a first-hand assessment of her former pupils—and Mindelan's husband—who insisted on being called Dom and who did not let Penelope win but was neither surprised nor insulted when she did so.

The afternoon passed in an impromptu snowball fight with Mindelan, Neal, and Daine and their families, not to mention, Lady Alanna, George, and Dalton. Penelope wasn't certain who won, but she was fairly sure that Daine had changed the score by transforming into an arctic bear. They all plopped down on a snow bank when it was over and Penelope found herself nestled against Dalton, who was wonderfully warm and solid beside the snow.

She made herself get up because she did not want to. Much as she loved—and that was a difficult enough admission for her—Dalton, she could not become too accustomed to his presence. Falling asleep in his arms had been a wonderful mistake, but it wasn't one she should repeat too often. He would leave again soon and then she'd have to stand alone…

The Lioness interrupted her thoughts with a firm grip on her shoulder.

"You have to let your walls down to love and laugh a little every so often, but try not to stay out too late doing it—you might have beat me this morning if you'd been better rested." She glanced over at Dalton and then shot Penelope a _we-both-know-he's-worth-it_ look before strolling off to join her husband.

Penelope took the unsubtle hint and slipped Dalton's arm about her shoulder for the walk back to the palace.

PDPD

"She'll never be able to finish that," Mindelan muttered as she watched Penelope pile chicken and potatoes onto her plate and scoop a small mountain of ginger cakes into a napkin. "Even Dom hasn't gotten that much."

Penelope shrugged—she was hungry after an afternoon in the snow and a long autumn on the road—and popped a bit of parsnip into her mouth.

George's face lit in a grin. "Two silvers she out-eats Dom."

"Fine," Mindelan murmured, amusedly shaking her head at her own folly.

Penelope and Dom blinked at one another and continued eating, neither paying particular attention to the other's plate. Penelope consumed everything she'd served for herself, decided that only the final ginger cake had been somewhat ill advised, and won two silvers for George.

"I learned long ago not to underestimate the appetites of the small and determined," George explained.

Penelope punctuated this pronouncement a small, anticlimactic burp. The Lioness raised a suggestive eyebrow at her husband. Dalton and Neal suddenly had a great deal of difficulty maintaining straight faces.

"I, for one, am disappointed," Dom said. "you ought to teach your squire to belch properly, Meathead."

Neal answered this suggestion with a long-suffering sigh. Penelope sighed right back at him.

PDPD

Later, when they'd all gathered in Lady Alanna's sitting room, Penelope succumbed to the soporific effects of her victory and settled her head on Dalton's shoulder, her eyes glazing over.

Dalton chuckled and pulled loose her braid so that her hair spilled across her face and his chest, gleaming softly in the firelight.

Penelope lifted her head long enough to scowl cheerfully at him and then lowered it again, lifting her legs onto the couch and letting her eyes flicker shut. And, for the second night in a row, she fell asleep in Dalton's arms.

"Good thing she doesn't snore," Neal observed, glancing up from his brandy to meet Dalton's eyes and give the smallest of nods.

"Quite," Dalton agreed drowsily, slumping against the arm of the couch.

Penelope did not wake when Dalton lifted her into Neal's arms. Or when Neal settled her on her bed in the squires' quarters, pulled a blanket over her, and pressed a fatherly kiss to her brow.

PDPD

Penelope woke well-rested, arrived early at the practice courts, and was eager for breakfast once she'd finished there. It set the pattern for a few wonderful weeks of mornings at the palace.

The last morning was particularly memorable. Penelope arrived at the empty practice and began warming up with a series of sword exercises.

She was interrupted by a quiet cough and turned to find a middle-aged man watching her. He was dressed in black and grey and slightly balding and something about his gaze made Penelope think he'd seen all her strengths and mistakes in just two minutes.

"Pardon me"—he hesitated a moment—"Lady—" he gestured for her to introduce herself.

"Penelope of Proudcreek."

"Ah, Queenscove's squire—I've heard a great deal about you." He nodded. "I am Lord Wyldon of Cavall."

Penelope stiffened slightly as she recognized the name of the man who'd put the first female page on a year's probation.

"Mindelan's training master," she murmured.

"I see you have also heard a great deal about me," he said.

"Queenscove is opinionated and long-winded, sir." Penelope swallowed. "I think he admires you during those rare moments when he manages to forget about all the supposed miserable indignities of his page years."

Lord Wyldon did not smile, but something like amusement seemed to flicker across his face.

"I see you have adopted Mindelan's philosophical practicality," he muttered.

"So Queenscove complains, sir."

"He would." Wyldon nodded knowingly. "Speaking of which, I had hoped to find Mindelan here. Have you any idea where she might be?"

Penelope shrugged. "She should be here soon. She's usually here first thing in the morning."

"I suppose little Fira has her occupied this morning, then." He frowned thoughtfully and then surveyed her for a moment. "Perhaps you will honor me with a brief engagement while we wait." If he had not drawn his own sword as he spoke she might have thought he was asking for a dance.

Penelope swallowed and blinked at the legend before her. The legend who'd spoken so fondly of Mindelan's daughter. But she could not find the words—or the courage—to refuse him, so she simply nodded and raised her own blade.

It was not a brief engagement. It was a long drawn out defeat—Penelope had known from the beginning that she could not win, but she was determined not to give him an easy victory.

She swiveled sideways and blocked his blows, sometimes retreating along the practice courts and sometimes managing to slip halfway through his guard and almost deliver a strike of her own. He never did anything underhanded, but he didn't cut her any slack either.

It ended suddenly. Her sword went clattering across the courts and she was flat on her back with no idea how she'd gotten there and Lord Wyldon's sword point hovering just over her neck. It was only then that she noticed that she noticed Mindelan watching them with a fascinated expression.

Wyldon pulled away his sword and reached down with one gloved hand to help her up. Penelope, who usually preferred to get up on her own, took it, feeling that something important was happening even she wasn't sure just what it was.

"I think that was instructive for both of us," he remarked, "but your left down-sweep needs work." He gripped her hand firmly—respectfully, she realized—and then released it.

"Thank you, sir, I will take care not to repeat that mistake."

"Perhaps you might trade weapons with Lady Keladry for a few moments and borrow her glaive while she uses your sword." His tone told her that this was not a mere suggestion and that he hoped he would meet her again on the practice courts someday.

"Certainly, my lord."

Penelope took up Mindelan's glaive and struggled with it for a few moments as she accustomed herself to the extra weight of the larger woman's weapon. Unlike the training master, Penelope did not practice with weighted weapons—she'd long since realized that, like the Lioness, she would have to rely on skill and finesse instead of brute strength.

"Straighten your arm out," Mindelan called.

Penelope did so and stepped closer so that she could eavesdrop on their conversation, which—given what she knew of their history—promised to be interesting.

"You seem to have passed off a decent lot of squires in your first batch," Wyldon said.

"That's more to their credit than mine," Mindelan answered, dropping her voice so that Penelope could only make out a low murmur. "Even seasoned soldiers aren't sure how to manage them."

"You might try asking them…" his words were obscured by the sharp clangs of their weapons for a time and Penelope slowed her pattern dance as she strained to hear. "Ask them what was hardest or worst and see if you can find a way to get the others ready for it."

"Let my students decide how they should have been taught, you mean?" There was an unusual hesitancy in Mindelan's voice.

"Certainly," Wyldon answered, disarming Mindelan with a clang and a clatter.

Penelope lowered the glaive for a moment to listen.

"They're quite remarkable creatures," Wyldon continued "I wasn't as …flexible as you are, Mindelan, and I didn't begin learning from my students until late in life…One in particular seem to have taught you how to manage all sorts of unique circumstances."

Penelope took this as her cue to resume her pattern dance as Wyldon bid Mindelan a brief farewell and departed.

"How did that happen?" Mindelan muttered.

"He's sharp," Penelope said as she returned Mindelan's glaive, her arms shaking with exhaustion. And she explained how Wyldon had introduced himself and challenged her to a duel.

"Good," Mindelan said. "I hope you learned something."

Penelope hesitated a moment before deciding Mindelan already suspected her of overhearing. She was reasonably certain that Wyldon had wanted her to.

"About that," Penelope whispered quickly. "The hardest part—aside from actually killing and that you just can't be ready for—is fighting something so big. Being attacked by something ten times your size—we weren't ready for that last fall." She felt herself flushing and looked at the ground.

"So you think it would help if pages got a chance to learn how to fight something big?"

"Yeah, a little, anyway." Penelope shrugged uncomfortably, glad she'd spoken—she owed it to Mindelan after months of instruction, not to mention inspiration—but embarrassed by what she'd said.

"Thanks," said Mindelan. She reached out and clasped Penelope's shoulder and handed her sword back to her. "I'll see what I can do." Then she bent suddenly and pulled Penelope into a sisterly hug. "Let me know if you think of any thing else."

"Thanks," said Penelope, managing a small smile. "I will."

PDPD

"Swoop's rules?" Dalton asked George as they sat down to a game of chess in Lady Alanna's sitting room. They were gathered there with Neal and Mindelan's families for one last afternoon before Dalton and Alanna left the palace.

George grinned. "Always."

"Good." Dalton wrapped an arm about Penelope's waist.

She tensed just a moment—an inevitable response given the amount of time she'd spent training in hand-combat that morning—before recognizing his grip and letting him pull her into his armchair.

George cocked his head at Penelope as he laid out the pieces. "Think very quietly lass. I've got a strategic reputation to maintain and he doesn't need your help attacking it."

Penelope scowled, flattered that George thought so highly of her strategic skills and draped her legs over Dalton's lap, settling her head against his left shoulder to watch the game.

Dalton sighed contentedly and brushed back a strand of hair that had escaped from her braid, pausing to run his thumb over her cheekbone.

George observed this cheerfully. "You are, of course, welcome to distract him all you like," he told Penelope.

"Well then, shall I kiss him every time you threaten one of his knights or castles?" she asked as George lifted his first pawn.

"That," George informed her, "might be cheating." He surveyed them both thoughtfully, taking in the way Dalton's left hand had wrapped itself round Penelope's elbow, as he set down the pawn. "Though I'm not sure which of us it would help."

Penelope, however, maintained strict neutrality, paying little attention to the game before her eyes as she listened to the hum of conversation in the crowded sitting room. This midwinter holiday—properly celebrated among Neal and Mindelan's families—had been the happiest and coziest of her life. And she wanted to follow Lady Alanna's advice and savor this last afternoon with Dalton.

"Penelope," Mindelan called, interrupting her thoughts. "Do you think a bear would be big enough?"

Penelope, remembering the Wildmage's performance at their snowball fight, guessed instantly what she intended. She lifted her head off Dalton's shoulder and glanced from Mindelan to Daine and back again before nodding. Then she settled her head on Dalton's shoulder—which was shaking with silent mirth—and bit her lip to keep from grinning as Daine blindly agreed to Mindelan's request.

George took advantage of their distraction to put Dalton's king in check, thereby maintaining his reputation as master strategist.

PDPD

The next morning, Penelope came to say goodbye to Dalton in the stables while the Lioness had a last word with Mindelan in the practice courts.

"I'm sorry I'll miss Mindelan's demonstration," Dalton muttered as he made one last check of his gear.

"Among other things," Penelope murmured, feeding the core of her apple to Dalton's horse.

"Are you flirting with me Proudcreek?" He took both of her hands in his own, ignoring the horse slobber on her left.

"Possibly." She tilted her head sideways to survey his face. "Probably." She darted forwards on tiptoe to kiss his cheek and then stepped back so that their arms were almost straight. "Perhaps I've been too long at the palace."

"You're leaving with Queenscove in a week," Dalton said, stepping sideways and pulling her into a kind of odd waltz across his horse's stall. "I don't you'll take up embroidery before then."

"I think I'd prefer to master an instrument—the pipes perhaps," Penelope said, merely for the sake of saying something that wasn't yet goodbye.

Dalton smiled. "Soon you'll expect poetry praising—'

They heard Lady Alanna's footsteps at the far end of the stable and they both froze, gazing desperately at one another.

And then—though Penelope wasn't entirely sure how it happened—they were pressed close together and kissing desperately, as though defying their impending separation. They broke apart, both breathing rather raggedly, when Alanna thumped loudly on the neck of Dalton's horse.

The horse whuffled and both squires blinked at her.

"Morning Penelope," she said as though she'd found them polishing tack or mucking out stalls. "Meet me outside when you're ready Dalton." And then she grabbed her own horse by the reins and disappeared.

"Pen?" Dalton tightened his grip on her shoulders.

She nodded at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, but couldn't quite speak.

"Take care of yourself."

She nodded. "You too." She stepped close for one last hug and then stepped back and nodded again. "And, Dalton—"

"Yes?" he tweaked her nose one last time and took his horse's reins.

"Don't you dare write me any poetry. Queenscove would never let us hear the end of it."

_So there's another goodbye. But I have good news. I now have solid plans to continue the Penelope-Dalton chronicles after the final chapter of Love and Money—and they include Selina (whose name will be fixed) and Jeck as well as Vina and Rissa. It's amazing the ideas that will come to you when you're supposed to be writing a 20-page paper on medieval universities…Next chapter should be up soon and will cover the fight with conservative Sir Kendal and its aftermath. Silverlake_


	7. Fighting Fair

"Just care for my horse and run these packs up to our room," Neal told Penelope, as he passed her his reins

_Thanks once again to all my fantastic reviewers—I'm so glad to hear you're excited about their continued adventures. Real-estate and recognizable characters belong to Tamora Pierce. This epic—you might want to grab a snack before you start—chapter contains material—classic Neal-Penelope exchanges—from chapters 12 and 13 of Training Master Mindelan and references events in chapter 15—basically covering the entire spring. Enjoy! _

Alanna and Dalton arrived in the village Hareston early one afternoon and were immediately greeted by the hoofprints of four fleeing bandits—wanted for murdering a wagon full of merchants—and the news—delivered by the child's distraught mother—that one of them had kidnapped his own two-year-old daughter as a hostage.

Alanna cursed and galloped after them. Dalton followed silently. They trailed the bandits into a range of wooded hills. The bandits split into two groups as soon as they realized Alanna and Dalton were closing in on them.

"You go after the right-hand set," Alanna ordered. "I'll take the left."

Dalton nodded and veered onto the right trail. It wasn't until minutes later, when the girl began to cry that Dalton realized he chasing the actual kidnapper. When the two outlaws split again, he followed the man with the child.

The kidnapper came to a fallen log blocking the path and drew up his horse, whirling around to face Dalton. His eyes were furious and desperate as he shielded his body with his daughter's.

"Stay back," he croaked, glaring at Dalton and tightening his arm about the girl's neck and shoulders so that her cries quieted.

Dalton swallowed, worried the hostage would be hurt if she stayed much longer in his grip. "Let's be reasonable," he began. "Why don't you tell me her name?"

The man's only response was to growl and jerk his horse sideways in a rush off the path.

Dalton later thought it must have been the girl's piteous wail that decided him, but in that moment he knew only the hardness of his knife hilt in his hand and the ease with which his arm threw it.

It took a very long time to travel. So long that Dalton remembered the day George had taught him knife-throwing. And the moment he'd ordered Dalton to hit an apple sitting in his palm.

"_But what if I miss?" Dalton had asked. _

_George had fixed him with a steady gaze and said only, "Don't doubt." _

_He hadn't. _

And then, suddenly, the knife buried itself in the murderer's jugular. He lurched sideways and his horse spooked, dumping the man and—a few paces later—his daughter before disappearing into the woods.

Dalton dismounted, ran to the man, and found him already dead. His daughter was quite alive, however, and shrieking in terror and pain—from what looked to be a broken arm—where she had fallen.

Dalton was just turning to approach the girl when Alanna appeared, drawn by the sound of the girl's cries once she'd dealt with her own bandits. She took in the situation with a single glance and dismounted.

"I didn't hit her," Dalton murmured numbly, bending to retrieve his knife. "I probably should have…but I couldn't just let him ride off with—"

"You didn't stop to think, did you?" Alanna snapped. She knelt and took the toddler in her arms, sedating her with healing magic.

"But there wasn't any time to think about—"

"Precisely." Alanna lifted the drowsy child onto her hip and gestured for Dalton to grab both of their horses for the walk back to the village. "What you did was absolutely reckless and exactly the right thing to do."

"Oh." Dalton took a moment to digest this as he followed her. "Is it always so instantaneously ambiguous?" he asked finally, unintentionally offering an exact echo of the question Neal had put to the Lioness nine years before.

"Often more so." This was the same answer she'd given Neal.

Dalton nodded faintly, trusting her to observe this through the maternal eyes in the back of head.

"It doesn't get any easier," she added calmly. "Just more familiar."

"I suspected as much," Dalton muttered to his horse.

PDPD

"Just care for my horse and run these packs up to our room," Neal told Penelope, as he passed her his reins.

They were joining a small group of knights and squires to tackle a Spidren infestation in a nearby village. They'd ridden all day and still arrived behind all of the other knights who had taken over most of the rooms—there were just enough conservatives present that Neal suspected it was deliberate. As far as he was concerned, the only positive aspect was that Lord Raoul would be arriving to lead the attack the next morning.

"I'll bring up supper and a spare mattress as soon as I've settled a few things with the innkeeper. We both ought to turn in early tonight." Neal reached over and tugged quickly at her braid as she led Magewhisper away.

"Eager to get her into your bed, are you Queenscove?" Ferrol chuckled darkly as Penelope passed him. He was Sir Kendal's squire, and a few years older than Penelope.

She pulled Magewhisper into the nearest empty stall, knowing her cheeks were flushed with anger and not wanting Ferrol to read this as a sign of embarrassment. He'd always been something of a bully when they were pages and she suspected that he hadn't improved with age.

"Funny you should make that assumption young Ferrol. I can't help wondering if it's a reflection of your relations with your own knight master." The words slid out of Neal's mouth before he could stop them; he was too tired to control his temper.

Penelope emerged from Magewhisper's stall and marched towards the grain bin with clenched fists, determined not to let their malicious imaginations keep her from her task. She filled a bucket and started back just as Sir Kendal himself emerged from a shadowy stall.

"The lad's just jealous is all," he hissed. "It must be nice having a pretty, young traveling companion to see to all your needs. I wouldn't even bother with the pretense of ordering a spare mattress if she were my charge," Kendal continued, reaching out suddenly to wrap suggestive fingers about Penelope's neck.

Penelope flinched and reacted instinctively. She jerked and twisted violently, knocking Sir Kendal to the ground and overturning her grain bucket.

"I make my own sleeping arrangements," she said, dimly aware that she'd reached the deceptive calm of intense anger. "And you will never be included in them."

Neal bent down and retrieved the bucket, handing it to her as Sir Kendal shouted orders to his squire and marched out of the stables.

"Impressive," Neal muttered.

"Mindelan taught me a few tricks last summer." She shrugged. "I'll see you in bit."

Neal nodded and turned to follow Sir Kendal so that he could finish paying the innkeeper.

PDPD

For once, Ferrol didn't bother with growling insults as he lunged at Penelope, ramming her against the stable wall.

She dropped the packs and ground her teeth to keep from moaning as pain shot through her shoulder. Her right arm was useless, but she bit the fingers he had clamped over her mouth. When this had no effect, she twisted, slammed one knee into his groin, and kicked sharply at his kneecap, drawing her belt knife with her left hand as soon as he released her.

She glanced around and realized that the stables were empty. They were alone; she was injured and he was angry—it was a situation pulled straight from her nightmares.

He pulled out his own belt-knife and lunged at her again.

She ducked and shook her head, trying to clear it of the ringing that filled her ears.

He grabbed her right arm and tried to pull her to the ground but she slashed at his hand with her knife. He released her only to slice into her thigh with his own knife.

She swore and nearly dropped her own knife, deciding that she needed to end this now, regardless of how much she had to hurt him.

PDPD

Neal fought back panic as he hurried out to the stables, telling himself there were plenty of reasons why Penelope might not have made it to their room yet.

He felt a rush of unreasonable pride and fear when he saw them, with their knives against each other's throats, locked in stalemate. Then Penelope saw him and gave a quick kick, twisting to get of Ferrol's reach. They were both already bleeding from several cuts, but Ferrol looked capable of walking.

"Leave now," Neal said, grabbing Ferrols collar and shoving him towards the door. "I'm not interested in any of your excuses. I'll discuss this with Sir Kendal later. And find another healer to see to your injuries because I won't."

Ferrol let out a string of curses before staggering away, clutching the cut on his side.

Penelope backed into a bale of hay and sat on it, breathing raggedly.

"Steady," Neal told her, tapping her nose gently with on finger.

She nodded at him and began breathing through her nose. "Packs are back there," she muttered, gesturing with her knife.

Neal nodded and realized that she was holding it in the wrong hand. He took a closer look and saw that her shoulder had been dislocated.

"Bastard," he hissed.

"That's what I called him," Penelope muttered. "Although now that I consider the matter I regret not putting a few choice modifiers in front of it." She set clenched her fingers and made an unsuccessful attempt to stand.

"I'm sorry," Neal said.

"You haven't done anything wrong," Penelope snapped.

"I shouldn't have left you alone with him," Neal muttered.

"We both thought that philosophical debate had ended," she said, slowly pushing herself to her feet. "And you're supposed to be my knight master, not my body guard."

Neal sighed, watching her wobbly steps towards the door. "I should have just let the first insult slide though and not retaliated."

"But that was the high point of my day," she protested and attempted to shrug, nearly falling as the motion jarred her body.

"That's only because it was followed by such a low point," he grumbled, stepping forward and scooping her into his arms so that he could carry her up to their room.

"I can walk," she protested. "This is just going to encourage the gossipers."

"Then you had better start coming up with some jaw-dropping retaliatory remarks, oh fair and terrible squire. You are currently only capable of managing a pathetic hobble."

"What are you going to tell Sir Kendal?" she asked quietly.

"You let me worry about that."

"Are you this evasive with all the girls you sweep off their feet and carry away?"

"No," Neal answered, "just the clever ones who are heavier than they look and impress me with their ability to overturn grain buckets on military veterans."

PDPD

"The problem is that they haven't been properly introduced to Yuki," Penelope remarked, once Neal had fixed her shoulder.

"I don't know," Neal called over his shoulder, as rummaged in his pack for bruise-balm and bandages. "Most of them know I'm married and seem to enjoy speculating about my infidelity. There's still a charming rumor going around that Kefira is mine and I paid Dom to claim responsibility for my indiscretions with Kel."

"She's far too well behaved to be yours," she remarked. "What I meant by properly introduced to Yuki was really introduced to her marvelous fan."

"I'd suggest you carry one," Neal said, frowning as he gathered a handful of magic to tackle one of her cuts, "but you seem to have found your own effective silencing techniques."

They both remained quiet while he finished her healing, and she was so exhausted when he finished that Neal didn't feel particularly guilty about setting a hand on her forehead and sending her to sleep without any warning. But he made sure to pull of her boots and tunic and tuck her in properly.

PDPD

Lord Raoul's voice yelling orders in the inn's courtyard woke them the next morning. Penelope sat up and rubbed her eyes, disoriented. Glancing around she realized that she was still in the bed, while Neal was stretched out on her cot with his feet hanging off the end. She flung the covers off and stalked to the washstand to splash water against her face.

"Well, Queenscove," she said as she laced up her boots, "I seem to have spent the night in your bed after all."

He shot her a good-natured scowl. "And it has left you entirely too cheerful, whilst my night on your humble pallet has done nothing to improve my morning temper."

"That," Penelope intoned, "would require a miracle."

PDPD

Only minutes later they were standing next to their saddled horses, eating breakfast on foot as they listened to Lord Raoul's instructions for eliminating the nearby immortal gang.

" My Sergeant and I will tackle the giant if there is one, I want the rest of you to focus on the centaurs while my men attempt to round up the Spidren."

Dom just had time to wander over and punch Neal's shoulder, telling Penelope she'd done a fine job making sure his shoes were tied that morning, before they were ordered to mount up.

PDPD

It was the longest day of fighting in Penelope's life thus far. Though she never suffered any life-threatening injuries, she lost count of the bruises and scrapes she received and of the number of kills she and her companions made.

She spent the morning hunting down centaurs, ducking hooves and swords as she fought to prevent their escape.

In the afternoon she helped set a Spidren nest on fire to exterminate a batch of Spidren young. The screams were awful and the scorched smell was even worse.

By sunset, when the yells went up announcing that the battle had been won, Penelope had been separated from Neal. She looked about for Dom or Raoul or any of the men she knew and swallowed hard when she realized that the only one she recognized was Sir Kendal. She tried to walk casually towards the shouting voices, but did not bother to sheath her sword.

Kendal turned and leered at her as she stepped onto the bridge with him, and Penelope saw that he had a nasty gash across one cheek. She hesitated a minute, debating whether or not she should offer to fetch a healer.

"How many men died for you today?" he snarled.

Penelope blinked at him and sidestepped away so that she stood at the furthest possible edge of the bridge from him

"How many good soldiers did you distract today?" he continued. "And how many will you beckon tonight, only to attack them when you worry that Queenscove will be jealous." He drew his sword and stepped towards her.

Penelope tightened her grip on her sword.

"How much of Tortall will you poison with your lies? My squire was right to try and put you in your place, but I'm not sure that's possible—" he lunged suddenly at her—"I'll do my kingdom a favor and finish you now."

It was her first swordfight against another human who was actually trying to kill her and she threw herself into it. Still, her fight was mostly defensive; Sir Kendal was an expert swordsman, even injured, and he was determined.

Their swords flew as she blocked and parried frantically. Occasionally she got a chance to attack, but she never managed to do more than scratch his arm. Meanwhile, he left several shallow cuts across her arms and she began to feel her injuries from the previous day.

Suddenly their swords were locked together, hilt to hilt. Penelope instinctively leapt backwards, plunging off the bridge and into icy water.

She surfaced, sputtering and managed to plant her feet, nearly dropping her sword. The river was waist deep and the current was strong. All of her muscles began to stiffen and buckle and her heavy leather gear weighed her down. She began trudging towards the bank, shivering and gasping.

Kendal roared and lunged for her again, swinging furiously. She got her sword up just in time and the point speared his belly as he jumped down upon her. Penelope's sword was wrenched from her grasp as Kendal's body hit the water. A cloud of blood filled the water around them and she watched helplessly as he gasped and sputtered and then went still.

PDPD

"Someone fetch the Commander; she's killed Sir Kendal," a voice cried. Penelope numbly recognized it as Ferrol's.

Fortunately it was soon joined by other voices, one of which sounded vaguely familiar. "Take my hand."

Penelope grasped the hand before her and recognized Dom. He was standing next to her on the bridge and she allowed him to guide her over to the riverbank and help her out of the water.

Some of his men fished Sir Kendal's body from the river and another restrained Ferrol, while Dom helped her out of her leather vest and draped a horse blanket over her shoulders. She shivered uncontrollably as she was led to a tent. Lord Raoul ordered Ferrol to stop shouting and listened to Dom's defense of Penelope.

"I'm sure it won't be necessary to try her for treason," he said gruffly, glancing out the tent flap at the darkening sky. "As soon as her knight master finishes with his healing work, I'll have one of the mages perform a truth spell and she can give us her own testimony."

PDPD

Dalton got back from digging their latrine pit and found Alanna hissing a steady stream of curses as she stuffed their gear back into their saddle bags.

"What's—"

Alanna had plenty of experience delivering bad news and cut him off with an essential fact intended to prevent panic.

"Penelope's alive."

Dalton, however, had enough experience with the lady knight to recognize this statement for the ominous pronouncement that it was.

"How badly was she hurt?"

Alanna blinked at him. "She killed a knight—Sir Kendal."

"She'd never—"

"He attacked. She wound up gutting him—"

"Gutting?"

_"Impaling_," Alanna amended. "He deserved to be gutted. Self-defense, but she's been accused of treason and murder. Raoul's there—he should be able to prevent any unreasonable consequences—but I want to ride with Neal and Penelope for a time to discourage another outburst."

Dalton nodded, torn between pleasure at the thought of seeing Penelope and worry that he'd find her walled in by her own proud defensive anger.

"We're riding further tonight so we can meet them tomorrow."

Dalton nodded again and glanced back ruefully at the now useless latrine pit.

"Saddle the horses," she ordered, marching away with a mage mirror. "I am fond of Queenscove, but I'd just as soon spare Penelope his deliberate male obliviousness."

PDPD

Penelope was perched on a folding stool, still damp and cold when Neal came in. She looked up and blinked at him but couldn't muster the energy to speak.

"Here," he said, "Lord Raoul said you could change first and Dom's going to bring you some tea."

She raised an eyebrow upon discovering that the pile of dry clothing he gave her contained a breast band and a hairbrush. On the rare occasions when he had anything to do with her gear, he tended to forget that she was female.

"Lady Alanna's on her way here," he said by way of explanation, "but she sent me very detailed instructions for your care in the meantime."

"Thanks," Penelope croaked, surprised and encouraged.

Neal glared pointedly at the man who had been assigned to 'guard' his squire until he left and then followed him out, drawing the tent flap closed behind him.

She hurriedly dressed and tore the brush through her hair, emerging from the tent as soon as she'd finished.

Neal reached out and took one of her hands, squeezing it gently. Dom passed her a cup of tea and the two of them accompanied her to Lord Raoul's tent were Ferrol and the mage waited.

Penelope spoke quietly but clearly as she answered Raoul's questions, very much aware of the men trying to hear her testimony outside the tent. He made her describe the events of the previous day as well as Kendal's attack and Penelope stared into the corner as she spoke, refusing to glance at either Ferrol or Neal.

"The fault here lies in a knight's angry pride and blindness and his squire's ignorance and jealousy," Raoul pronounced when she had fallen silent. "Lady Penelope acted to preserve her own life against an unprovoked attack and she has endured quite enough. Ferrol's fate I shall leave to the king and perhaps the Chamber." He gestured to dismiss Ferrol and the mage, before turning to Neal. "I suggest that you travel with Lady Alanna for a time—I think you might find the company more agreeable."

"What he means," Dom explained, "is that Lady Alanna has announced her intention of escorting you for a time, whether you like the idea or not."

"More proof that great minds think alike," Neal said calmly. And Penelope smiled at the thought of seeing Dalton and being tutored by Lady Alanna.

"I expect you'll have us all snapping to attention one day, just like she does." Lord Raoul murmured.

Penelope shrugged and shook Raoul's hand.

"I'm afraid you'll have to live through a few more years of gossip and scandal first though," he told her. "Rumors about Mindelan and me were never quite so disturbing—she was my squire you know—"

"I should think they would have been even more disturbing," Penelope said, without thinking, "Neal's not quite old enough to be my father." She gave an apologetic shrug when she realized what she'd said.

Raoul merely chuckled and said, "at any rate, the scandal surrounding little Kefira's birth seems to have created a few men who would rather attack your reputation than acknowledge your strength and skill. I wish you the best of luck in facing them."

"I'm afraid it will be more about ability than luck, sir," she muttered as Neal pulled her from the tent.

PDPD

As soon as they were on the main road again, Dalton nudged his horse forwards to walk beside the Lioness and glanced pointedly at her in a silent request for the full story.

"Very well," she muttered. "I suppose you're aware of the rumors surrounding Neal and Penelope."

Dalton nodded. "They're just as ridiculous as the ones about us."

"Not quite. We're laughable. I'd old and tough—a grandmother—even if you do have a lean, young figure and positively enchanting green eyes."

Dalton used these green eyes to glare at the Lioness, who shrugged amiably back him.

"They're possible. Penelope is young and undeniably pretty—not to mention inexcusably handy with a sword from certain conservatives' perspective—and Neal is a long ways from his wife."

"Also undeniably pretty," Dalton put in, "and unlikely to tolerate infidelity. Not to mention his daughter. And son. And the fact that—"

"Penelope's interests lie elsewhere—" she paused—"or rather ride here." She gestured at Dalton. "The point is that these rumors have led to a few unpleasant accusations and propositions for Penelope."

Dalton's horse stopped suddenly. He looked down and realized that his fingers were clenched tightly about the reins. Sighing, he loosened his grip and politely asked Alanna to continue.

Dalton listened in silence as Alanna described both of Penelope's recent fights.

"Is this ever going to end?"

"I hope it will slow down at least—when she gets her shield. But then people still speculate about me." She sighed. "It's complicated."

"Isn't everything?" Dalton muttered.

"Good question." The Lioness smiled grimly. "Next question."

"So, those rumors about you during—"

"True."

"All of them?"

"There was never any threesome with Delia of Eldorne."

Dalton looked as though he'd been forced to swallow something large and sour. "I hadn't heard that one."

"Good. Perhaps it's died a natural death. Rather like my love affairs with the Jon and Liam."

"Liam?"

"The Shang Dragon."

"Shang Dragon?"

Alanna sighed cheerfull. "Sir Myles—bless him—has been jumping from the ancient wars to the Immortals War and skipping the in-between recent history hasn't he?"

"So it would appear," Dalton muttered.

"Well, we've a long ride ahead of us—I'll have to rectify the matter."

It was indeed a very long and very educational ride.

PDPD

Lady Alanna's evening conversion—for lack of a better term—with Lord Wyldon by mage-mirror (with Numair's assistance from the palace) was also long. And painfully loud.

"Good evening," Lord Wyldon began stiffly.

"Hardly a possibility given the circumstances," Alanna muttered.

"Which are absolutely—"

Alanna interrupted. "A disgraceful—"

"—intolerable and—"

"—farce of chivalry and—"

"—unprecedented and—"

"—justice—"

"Injustice, you mean—"

"How dare _you _presume to put words in _my _mouth_…"_

Dalton glanced in the mage mirror and saw Numair attempting to cover both his ears with his hands while turning the pages of his book with his elbows. He decided an evening stroll was in order and left immediately.

He returned to find the two knights smiling warily at each other.

"Yes, quite."

"Indeed."

"I do believe Daine's calling," Numair said quickly, ending the communication while it was still quiescent.

PDPD

"I know you don't want to talk about yesterday," Neal said, "but could you at least recite a ballad so that I can attempt to correct you and we can have a nice squabble? The silence is unnerving me."

She shrugged listlessly and shook her head, so they rode in silence until Neal called a halt and dismounted to begin unpacking.

"Don't all the voices in your head keep you sufficiently entertained?" she asked once she'd dismounted.

"They aren't all scintillating conversationalists like you," he informed her as he pulled a pot from his pack to begin preparing stew, "in fact, when they all agree with each other and start up a chorus they can be quite dull."

"Forgive me if I do not express proper sympathy," she said, removing her saddle s and draping it over a log. She took the pot from him, planning to fill in with water while he started a fire. "I have rather the opposite difficulty at the moment," she called over her shoulder as she marched towards the creek.

"Daydreaming about Dalton are you?" he asked as Penelope returned with the pot.

She twitched quickly, nearly dropping the pot and sloshing water over both of them.

"Sorry," she said once they had rescued the cook fire. "I'm not sure I want to see him actually." She wasn't sure how she felt about anything—knighthood included—anymore and she found she couldn't meet Neal's eyes.

"I don't want anyone to look at me the way he does again. I'm afraid—it would be too much like Ferrol. I don't want anyone to see me that way. I'd rather be just another boy, just—" she broke off and stamped her foot softly.

"You'll never be just another boy," Neal said mildly, "especially not to him."

"It's not fair," she said, aware that she was whining but unwilling to stop. "How am I supposed to become my own self when the rest of the world sees something disgusting and untrustworthy. I'm not even pretty—my riding around in trousers and slicing up monsters does nothing to change that. I'm the only one who's not allowed to just be myself even if I work harder that all the others."

She walked towards their packs, looking something to busy her hands. But Neal grabbed her wrist before she'd made it three steps.

She twisted her arm away instinctively—she'd been grabbed too often lately by enemies—and then hated herself for being so skittish. She forced herself to stand and face whatever lecture Neal was determined to launch at her.

"You're wrong on a number of counts. Everyone struggles to be a self that the rest of the world doesn't see—even crotchety young noblemen like me. Secondly"—he paused and used a finger to lift her chin.

Penelope felt her nostrils flare and forced herself to blink calmly.

"You are very, very pretty. Any man who leads you to believe otherwise is lying."

Penelope blushed almost anxiously. This was not the sort of thing knight masters ordinarily told their squires. But it was rather flattering and she and Neal were anything but ordinary. And Neal never looked at her _that _way.

Neal nodded at her and continued. "I know a number of men who agree that Dalton has excellent taste—admittedly many of them are married to some of the most formidable women in Tortall, but it's still a point in your favor. And finally, I know a few women who would disagree with your claim that your situation is unique; difficult as your path may be, you aren't the only one to walk it."

"Oh," she said, shuffling her feet. "Sorry, I know I shouldn't, but sometimes I can't help thinking that they had it easier sometimes. I just--"

"You do realize, don't you, that the men around you—the intelligent ones, among which I count my humble self—can see you from more than one angle and understand that you are a human being with many dimensions? Some of us don't think that warrior and woman are incompatible identities."

Penelope shook her head thoughtfully. "How do you see me then?"

"You are my stubborn, cynical, undisciplined, insubordinate squire."

Penelope had to return his smile with a cheeky grin.

"And you will soon become a powerful, talented, chivalrous knight."

They rolled their eyes at each other.

"And," he added quietly, "you are an intelligent and courageous young woman who I would have been proud to call my daughter."

Penelope blinked as he opened his arms to her and looked him up and down hesitantly before stepping into them.

"Even if you are a little silly sometimes," he muttered, hugging her.

Neal's arms, she decided, were like a cross between Dalton's and Mindelan's: warm, strong, calming. Fatherly. She lingered there for a moment before stepping back.

"I should warn Lady Alanna," she whispered, wiping her eyes, "you're going to be a merciless cynic while you're getting this out of your system."

"No need," he told her with mock gravity, "I manage one sentimental-but-no-strings-attached speech every three years of so for all of the important women in my life. Just ask your training master when you get the chance."

PDPD

Penelope sat perfectly still on a log a short distance from the creek, watching the rushing water and listening to its babbling. The place reminded her of the creek for which her home fief, Proudcreek, was named, and of the creek Dalton had dumped her in the previous summer, but every time she let her mind drift into pleasant memories, she found herself thinking suddenly of her soaking the previous afternoon and imagining that she saw Kendal's body and blood in the water before her. There had been so much blood, all of it—her's and Kendal's—seeping and swirling in the cold, rapid-running water.

A warm hand slid underneath her braid and touched the back of her neck, startling her. Penelope jumped to her feet, instinctively turning and drawing her sword in one fluid motion.

"Sorry," she said quickly, recognizing Dalton. "It's been a rough few days; I'm a little jumpy this afternoon. I suppose…" she trailed off, glancing down as she suddenly realized she had drawn her sword for the first time—touched it for the first time—since killing Kendal with it. She lowered the blade quickly, nearly dropping it.

"I shouldn't have surprised you," Dalton said quietly. And then, in a louder but more hesitant voice, he asked, "Did Ferrol really try to—"

"I don't want to talk about it," Penelope said, gritting her teeth and speaking so quickly that she was surprised Dalton heard her. "It's over and it's not really any of your concern." It was his concern—she could see it in his eyes—but she didn't want to associate Dalton with Ferrol in her mind.

"Let's not talk then," Dalton said, automatically.

He stared at her for a moment, trying to find his cheerful, practical sparing partner—the girl he'd befriended during their early days as pages because she fought fair and could still find something to laugh about when she lost—in the tired young woman before him. Her sword dangled from one hand and her breathing was slow. Finally, she lifted her head, and he glimpsed the friend he'd trained beside in the archery courts and the girl he'd kissed behind the stables.

Suddenly, he drew his own sword and said, lightly, "guard."

She raised her eyebrows and stepped backwards, surprised. Then she lifted her own sword point and stepped forwards again, her eyes intent and her face familiar.

It was good to fight someone who wasn't actually trying to kill her. They weren't using practice blades, so they moved carefully and precisely. Their movements were more mimicry than combat—the goal was to disarm, not to dismember. It was more like dancing than fighting, she thought as she blocked Dalton's sweep and turned her weapon towards his sword arm. He had to jump away to avoid being scratched.

"Who taught you that?" he asked, springing back to attack again.

"Wyldon." She blocked quickly and nearly managed to disarm him in his surprise.

"Lord Wyldon? But—"

"He's conservative, well-respected, and, according to Neal, going soft in his old age." Penelope smirked delicately; she might have looked like a court lady if she hadn't been sweaty, muddy, and lunging at Dalton with a sword.

Dalton parried and smirked back. "I was going to ask when actually. He and Alanna had, erm, words last night. It took about ten minutes of her yelling and him giving automatic icy replies before they realized that they were actually agreeing with each other."

"Maybe she's going soft in her old age too," Penelope said, trying to distract him as she prepared another attack. "It's probably all Neal's fault."

"You're not giving me nearly enough credit," he told her, sweeping his sword around so that she had to scoot out of the way.

"Perhaps not," she said, ducking quickly under his sword and kissing his chin. He stood very still and held his sword carefully away, stunned that she she'd passed so easily through his guard.

She sighed deeply—though it wasn't an entirely unhappy sigh—and lowered her head. Tentatively, expecting her to dart way the moment he touched her, he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders. Her shoulders shook for an instant and he almost stepped away, but then she dropped her forehead onto his shoulder like a child falling asleep.

"You're alright," he said—it was part question, part statement, part prediction. He dropped his sword so that he could wrap his other arm around her and pull her close. She murmured something against his chest. "What was that?" he asked quietly.

She tilted her head back and looked up at him, dropping her own sword so that it landed against his with a clatter. "You lost your weapon first," she told him lightly, "so I win."

"Deceitful wretch," he murmured affectionately, tugging gently at her braid.

She frowned suddenly. "Best be careful," she told him seriously, "Sir Kendal said something similar just before he impaled himself on my sword."

"Yes, but he was an old madman and he was lying. I'm a young madman telling the truth. Well, sort of, clever, beautiful warrior might be a slightly more accurate description."

" I suppose I ought not kill you for telling the truth," she said slowly, almost teasingly. And then she kissed him.

PDPD

That kiss was only a beginning, however.

They traveled together for weeks, battling Immortals and bandits and fighting a vicious and magically enlarged sparrow. He watched Penelope spar with Wyldon—who visited uneasily to help tackle the giant animals—and train with Alanna. When they were attacked, Dalton fought at her back and when they made camp for the night, he sat close beside her to eat supper.

Dalton kept noticing the haunted look on her face even when she was napping in the saddle and laughing beside their campfire. And he knew that it matched the shadows behind his own eyes. They were hardening, toughening. And he worried sometimes that they would loose themselves in the process.

He spoke little about the knife he'd thrown and the little girl that he'd left bloodstained and fatherless, telling Penelope only the bare facts. And she said little more about Kendal. But after they returned to the scene of that fight, they didn't need to talk about either.

PDPD

They stayed again at the inn where Penelope had fought Ferrol, though this time they each had their own room. Penelope could not sleep; somehow the soft indoor noises of the inn were oppressive after nights of camping and she kept reliving the moment when she'd gone off the bridge and wondering if she'd ever be able to swim in a river again.

Eventually, she threw back the covers and dressed. Grabbing her cloak, she tiptoed through the sleeping in and stepped out into the spring night. She slowly walked the quarter mile to the bridge where Kendal had died.

She gazed at the stars glinting on the rippling water for a moment and came to a sudden resolution. She unlaced her boots—pointedly ignoring her trembling fingers—pulled them off, stuffed her socks into them, and set them on the ground beside the bridge. She set her folded cloak on her boots and stepped barefoot on the bridge.

She walked—as steadily as she could given that her hammering heart seemed to be pushing her guts down through her legs—to the very center of the bridge. She hesitated there a moment longer and then stripped off her shirt, trousers, and tunic. These she simply dropped on the wooded boards, afraid that she'd loose her courage if she folded them.

Then she jumped in.

It wasn't nearly as cold as it had been the first time, but the water was still cold enough to make her shriek quietly. It was deeper now—about neck deep. And it felt very, very clean even as she buried her toes in the mud silt at the bottom. She submerged herself until her braid was saturated and she wasn't thinking of anything but the current against her skin. Then she surfaced and began making her way to the bank.

"What in Mithros' name do you think you're doing?" a voice called.

It was Dalton, he'd been sleepless and wandering aimlessly along the road when he heard her splash and shriek—which didn't worry him as much as one of her blood-curdling battle cries would have but was still troubling—and had hurried in her direction.

"What happened?" he demanded. "Are you hurt? Did someone—"

"Just getting back on the metaphorical horse," Penelope answered, somehow not entirely surprised to find him there.

"Are you crazy?" he asked. She certainly seemed to be grinning madly in the moonlight.

"Yes. And very cold. But also quite calm and—"

"Probably shock—" Dalton put in, stepping onto the bridge.

"You ought to try it," Penelope continued.

"What?" Dalton spotted Penelope's clothes and tried not to think about whether he was relieved or disappointed that there weren't any undergarments with them.

"Washing away the memories." Penelope climbed onto the bank as she spoke and it was partly to keep himself from watching her that Dalton followed her advice, tearing off his own clothes and jumping into the creek.

The water was cold and lively and it didn't care that Dalton had saved a girl's life or that he'd kill her father. It was exactly what he needed.

Penelope handed him her cloak—which she'd already used to dry herself—when he emerged and ran to fetch their clothes from the bridge, pulling on her own shirt before she returned.

They dressed quickly, though Dalton found Penelope shivering and staring thoughtfully at the creek and reached over to pull on her tunic. Penelope smiled and shivered again when she noticed his hands lingering over her hips. Then her eyes grew serious and she took his hands in her own.

"It's over," she whispered, and then, admitting to herself that it would never truly be over, simply squeezed his fingers for reassurance.

"We survived anyway," he muttered, gathering her close to breathe in her scent and hold her. To prove to them both that they really had survived. Her tears were warm against his still clammy skin, but she shed them silently and they seemed to slow the thundering of Dalton's heart to a peaceful murmur.

They sat together on the edge of the bridge, with their legs dangling over the edge—Dalton's left foot hooked around Penelope's right—and their arms wrapped around each other and did not kiss or speak or move for a long time.

Eventually, Penelope yawned and Dalton realized that his eyelids were halfway shut and that they were probably both in danger of falling into the water. This didn't seem to be a particularly pressing matter as it was easy enough to draw their feet onto the bridge and lay back on its sturdy planks. Her shoulder beneath his cheek wasn't much softer than the wood beneath them but it was still quite comfortable.

And Dalton did not wake until he felt Neal's footsteps on the bridge. Then he propped himself up on one elbow to face Penelope's knight master, who did not seem at all surprised to have found them there.

"She trusts you," Neal said finally. He'd obviously taken in their wet hair and clothing and her tearstained face but didn't mention them. "She doesn't trust easily."

Dalton nodded. "She trusts you too." _And I trust her, _he realized but did not tell Neal, _more than anyone else. _

Neal nodded again and walked away, leaving Dalton to wake Penelope and walk with her back to the inn. Dalton never knew what had made Neal wake and walk out to the bridge. In any case, Lady Alanna was the only alert rider in their party the next afternoon.

PDPD

And it wasn't until weeks later, when she came up and kissed him in front of an entire camp—her somewhat successful strategy for ending the gossip about her relationship with Neal—that Dalton realized they hadn't just survived—they'd grown somehow.

He also realized that, in the process of deliberately tarnishing her reputation, she'd somehow made his, at least among the Own. And the applause and wolf-whistles took some getting used to. Or they might have, if word of that kiss hadn't been overshadowed by highly disturbing rumors about Alanna and Wyldon.

_So, hope you enjoyed. And now for a word about upcoming productions: Pride and Determination should be about 10 chapters (of varying length) and will end with their squire years. Then I will begin Eventfully Ever After, which will start during the final chapter of Love and Money. Life—or rather a job, two puppies, and two novels in progress—may make updates somewhat sporadic, but. Chapter 8 is in progress and will be up soon. _


	8. War Wounds

_Many thanks to my inspiring reviewers—here's another long chapter for you. It corresponds to chapters 18-21 of Training Master Mindelan. As always, kingdom and conspicuous characters belong to Tamora Pierce. Enjoy!_

Summer was spent mostly together and was mostly wonderful. They tackled Spidren near Pirates' Swoop and visited the palace. Dalton managed to beat George at chess and Penelope returned to early morning glaive practice with Mindelan. They rode and picnicked together—sometimes with Neal or Mindelan and her children and sometimes alone—in the woods near Corus. They kissed often behind the stables but were only interrupted once by Tobe—who effectively killed the moment by informing them that Wyldon was headed in their direction and was duly punished with a dunking in the pond when they realized he'd been lying.

Autumn was interesting—and thought provoking when they watched Mindelan drop everything—Kefira included—and ride off to rescue Dom. Dalton didn't like wondering if he'd be able to do the same for Penelope and prayed he'd never be in a position to find out. Penelope's gut lurched horribly when she saw Neal's injuries and realized he might not have come home at all.

And they were both so worried about Mindelan's family that they snuck into the council room to hear the debate over whether or not she'd be allowed to keep her position. They didn't particularly mind the punishment they received for it since it meant working together in the otherwise empty supply barracks.

And then there was war. It interrupted their punishment and it nearly killed them.

PDPD

Penelope stiffened when the bells began but she didn't loose count of the ropes she was inventorying.

"Fifteen," she called out for Dalton to mark down. And her voice was so calm it seemed to belong to someone else. "What's next?"

"Bandages, to be tied together in stacks of ten." Dalton lifted a pile of the shelf, setting them on the table so that they could start. "We haven't seen war before."

"No," Penelope said quietly, shifting her feet so that she could stand with her side against Dalton's; she was very cold suddenly, but his shoulder felt warm against hers. "We haven't done this before." She tucked a loose strand of hair back into her braid. "How many folds do you think?"

"Eight—that's what the ones that are already packed have anyway." Dalton grasped her elbow briefly before stepping away to grab more bandages. The bells were still sounding but they seemed quieter now that he'd gotten used to them. "We're ready though—I hope—we've seen more Immortals than lots of knights."

Penelope waited until Dalton was beside her again, with their elbows touching, to speak. "This can't be that different really from our skirmishes with Spidren or the centaur battle at—"

"War is just a shorter name for a longer, bloodier fight," Dom interrupted, stepping back through the door. "When you're one the ground, trying to live through it, you can't tell the difference," he added, not unkindly. "Never mind that now," he said, gesturing at their bandage folding.

He frowned for a moment as he surveyed the supply room. Then Kefira wandered in, coming to tug urgently at his hand, and he scooped her up, suddenly decisive. "Start carrying the replacement supplies to the stables and loading the saddle bags." And then he disappeared, carrying Kefira away.

"I wonder where what they're going to do with her?" Penelope said, gathering an armload of gear. She was almost jealous of Kefira's blissful ignorance, her secure knowledge that her parents would see to everything—if only they came back from battle.

"She'll be as safe as anyone here," Dalton said absently. "Lady Yuki will watch her if no one else is available."

Alanna met them at the stables and ordered them to drop the Own's gear. "Saddle your own mount," she told Dalton. "We're riding out in a few minutes to stop a Spidren and Hurrok band from attacking Corus. The Wildmage just spotted their arrival."

PDPD

Penelope bit her lip to keep from calling a last farewell after Dalton as he rode away with Lady Alanna, afraid of what she might tell him if she opened her mouth. Neither of them looked back at her as they rode away. When they'd passed through the gates, Penelope looked uncertainly at her own saddled mount. No one had given her any orders, but she knew Neal wasn't coming.

"Mount up, Proudcreek!" a voice called. And she spun around to find Wyldon and Selena rushing past her. "Mindelan's horse is all ready and she'll be here in a moment," he told her. She stood blinking at him. "Go on! You might be her favorite, but that doesn't mean she wants to wait for you."

Penelope gave a half-guilty-half-gleeful shrug at the word 'favorite' and ran to her horse.

Mindelan rode up just as Penelope mounted. "Ready?" she asked.

Penelope nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"You've gotten better at lying," Mindelan told her and Penelope found the compliment oddly reassuring.

"Queenscove's been a good teacher," she called as soon as she had found her voice.

PDPD

At first, Penelope thought the shadow overhead was a new kind of creature. Then it unleashed a strange black lightning which temporarily stunned everyone on the battle field.

She looked up once more and realized that it was an enormous, horse-sized eagle—the Wildmage had clearly been experimenting with enlarged forms—and she held a harness containing Numair in her talons. They darted cleverly through a flock of Hurroks and he shot off another blast of magic.

The result, as far as Penelope could tell, was utter chaos. At least for the Immortals; a few broke ranks and fled and others temporarily lost their focus. Mindelan launched a successful attempt to force a split in their formation.

Penelope dove in behind the lady knight, going blade-to-blade with a centaur to keep him from attacking Mindelan's rear as they forged their way through the Immortal formation. She was completely unprepared for the Hurrok that dove suddenly at her, biting a chunk of flesh from her shoulder and knocking her from her horse. She only just managed to keep a hold of her sword as she rolled back to her feet.

There, she found herself pinned between the centaur and the hovering Hurrok. She swung at the centaur, opening a gash across his arm. But the Hurrok pounced again, slashing at her, before she could press her advantage against the centaur. His sword sliced a wound across her abdomen while she was fighting the Hurrok off.

A loose arrow hit the Hurrok's neck, disrupting its wing beats. Without stopping to calculate, Penelope thrust her sword quickly at its chest, plunging the blade into its heart. The Hurrok let out an agonized shriek and collapsed on top of her.

Penelope tried to crawl out from beneath the body, but a sudden wave of agony across her stomach stopped her. She lay still, sticky with blood—the Hurrok's and her own. Its wings obscured the sunlight and the air was thick and hot, difficult to breath. At least the body sheltered her from any further blows. Just my luck, she thought as she slid from consciousness, to miss out after we start winning.

PDPD

Dalton managed (entirely by accident) to stick with Lady Alanna throughout the course of the battle, even as the tide turned and they plunged aggressively after the fleeing Immortals. They were only a few paces from each other when the fighting wound to a close. They grinned tiredly at one another before Dalton realized that Penelope was nowhere to be seen.

Alanna dismounted and Dalton numbly followed suit. A centaur twitched and Alanna calmly beheaded it. Then she turned to Dalton.

"Go find her. That's an order."

Dalton nodded and began the most terrifying task she'd ever set for him. He forced himself to look everywhere, scanning the wandering soldiers for a small figure and checking each body to make sure it wasn't hers.

He spotted Mindelan and hurried towards her, hoping for news. But he didn't even have to ask after Penelope before she answered him.

"I'm looking too," she said, which wasn't much comfort when he needed to see her—hopefully alive and well—with his own eyes.

"Good," he lied and they parted ways again.

But Dalton's heart dove into his gut when Dom called loudly for his wife a few moments later and he sprinted in the direction of the shout, getting to him before Mindelan.

Penelope was so still that he worried the tiny rise and fall of her chest were only his wishful imagination. She wasn't wearing chain mail and her clothing was ripped and soaked with blood.

Then Lady Alanna swept in, setting her hands upon Penelope's abdomen in a flare of purple light. Dom clasped Dalton's shoulder sympathetically and pulled him out of the way.

"Will she live?" Mindelan asked when Alanna finally sighed and lifted her head. Dalton bit his lip at the question and felt his fingers curl into fists.

"She'll give Neal grey hairs," Alanna muttered. "I've done my best to seal the wound cleanly, but she lost a great deal of blood before you found her."

"Should she go to the infirmary?" Dalton asked quietly, very aware that he'd just heard one of the Lioness's rare non-answers.

"Yes," Alanna said distractedly. "Why don't you take her? I doubt you'll be much help with anything else until she's seen to and I've other wounded to tend here."

Dalton didn't bother to wait for a stretcher, but simply lifted Penelope—she seemed smaller than usual and he hoped she hadn't lost _that_ much blood—and started for the palace.

"Pen," he murmured when they were halfway there and she had grown heavy in his arms.

He wasn't sure whether or not he imagined her left eyelid fluttering momentarily.

"You can't quit now." He adjusted his grip on her. "Not when you've put so much work into winning your shield." He walked silently for twenty paces or so to catch his breath. "Not when there's so much we haven't done, so much we haven't said." He swallowed. "I love you too much to let you give up."

She turned her head so that her nose brushed his chest and he resolved to keep talking all the way to the infirmary, murmuring whatever encouraging thoughts floated into his mind.

PDPD

"Goddess," Neal hissed, running to help Dalton lower Penelope onto the nearest cot.

"She managed to get herself sliced open and squashed by a Hurrok," Dalton muttered. "Lady Alanna says she's lost a lot of blood."

"Understatement," Neal murmured, checking her pulse and sending a flare of green light across her body before he began to strip away her battle gear. "And they'll be an infection—from the dead Hurrok."

Dalton swallowed and pulled away Penelope's boots. Then he noticed that his own left trouser leg was soaked with blood, most of it his own, and calmly toppled over, leaving Neal to tend to both squires.

PDPD

"…no way to know for certain," Alanna was saying as Dalton's eyelids fluttered open that evening."…probably past the worst."

"…good chance of making it," Neal agreed as Dalton blinked himself into proper wakefulness.

"Really?" he murmured, looking around the room to find that Penelope had been cleaned up and dressed in a nightgown and was sleeping in the next cot.

"So will your leg by the way," Alanna said sharply. "I shouldn't have let you walk on it."

Dalton blinked. "It feels fine."

"Someone got a little carried away healing it and is not allowed out of her cot for the time being," Neal put in.

Alanna gave a sigh that was half roar.

Neal smirked smugly and sat beside Penelope, attempting to coax a mug of water down her throat.

"I can do that," Dalton offered, springing up.

Neal watched him wobble over and nodded, passing him the mug. Alanna cleared her throat until he nodded at her.

"Yes," he said. "I'll go rest and come back in the morning."

Alanna settled herself on the pillows and watched as Dalton slowly got a third of the cup down Penelope's throat and Penelope dribbled the rest across her sheets and nightgown.

"She's burning up," Dalton said, perching himself on the edge of her cot.

"Good," Alanna muttered, coming over to touch her forehead. "That should take care of the infection." She smooth a bit of hair off Penelope's cheek.

"I must say," she added after a short silence, "she's been blessedly quiet. Lot's of feverish patients moan about their regrets and call for their parents."

"She doesn't have any."

"Everyone has regrets," Alanna murmured, watching Penelope's fingers curl around Dalton's wrist. "Even if some of us are too proud to admit them." She yawned. "Family is rather easier to improvise," she added, tucking the blankets up about Penelope's shoulders.

PDPD

Mindelan and Dom visited a few hours later, both stiff-limbed and weary. Dom nodded at Dalton and stood a few paces back from the bed. Mindelan smiled sadly and pressed her knuckles to Penelope's forehead.

"She's burning up."

"And probably will be all night," Alanna informed her. "We'll let you know if there's any change.

Mindelan bit her lip and nodded, squeezing Penelope's shoulder. "I'm so sorry," she murmured.

Dom glanced regretfully at Penelope and took Mindelan's arm. "Fira's waiting outside," he reminded her.

Mindelan sighed and clasped Dalton's hand.

"I'll stay with her," he promised.

PDPD

And Dalton did stay with her, watching her breathing even out over the next three days and leaving only when he had to and never for long. He was half-afraid that if he was not there to count her breaths, she would stop them entirely.

"A watched pot never boils," Alanna told him on the third evening.

"Yes it does," Dalton muttered absently. "I've seen you glare at them until they start."

"You still do that?" Neal asked.

"Only when I'm really hungry." She set a hand on Dalton's shoulder. "The point is that your wearing yourself out watching her isn't going to make her wake any faster. It's only a matter of time now. She isn't going anywhere. You should get some rest."

"But she seems so—"

"We all know she'll wake on her own schedule—by which I mean at a highly inconvenient hour," Neal put in. "It shouldn't be too long now."

"That's why—"

Alanna put a hand to Dalton's face and sent him to sleep before he could protest. "Now you two can race to wakefulness," she announced sweetly, stepping out of the way so that Neal was forced to catch Dalton before he toppled to the floor.

"Now you've done it," he muttered, lifting Dalton so he could carry him to another room.

PDPD

It was very dark and Dalton had been telling her not to do something. She couldn't remember what though, everything hurt too much. And now there was another voice, giving another order.

"Swallow."

There was something warm and vaguely minty at her lips and she was thirsty. Swallowing didn't sound like such a bad idea after all. So she tried. It was horribly bitter but she didn't have the energy to spit it out. The liquid stayed insistently at her lips and she was forced through a long series of unpleasant swallows.

"That's foul," she gasped when at last it vanished.

"Like your infection," the voice—it was familiar, but oddly strained and weary sounding—told her. "I'll stir in some honey."

After several more—decidedly sweeter—sips, Penelope pealed her eyes open. She was in a narrow infirmary bed next to a glowing lamp. And Neal was setting an empty mug on a nearby table.

"Happy seventeenth birthday," he said, when he saw that she was properly awake.

"You're four days early," she told him, "but I'm still surprised you remembered."

"Actually," he replied. "I'm only a few hours early—it's tomorrow morning—and you'll have to excuse my eagerness. We've been very worried you weren't going to live to see it."

"Oh," Penelope said slowly. "Sorry about that." And then she remembered the Hurrok and the centaur. "How did the battle end?" she asked. And then another terrifying thought occurred to her. "Where's Dalton?" She tried to sit up and felt an unpleasant tearing across her stomach.

"You are impossible," Neal informed her, setting a hand on her shoulder to hold her in bed. "So is Dalton, for that matter, Alanna had to force him to sleep after he sat watching you breathe and sweat for three days. You can see him in the morning if you behave and lie still."

"Fine," Penelope whispered; she was already sleepy again. " Tell me what happened," she requested and then dozed through most of Neal's explanation.

"Did it not occur to you to wear armor or shout for help?" Neal demanded when he had finished.

"No one would have heard me," Penelope protested thickly. "And armor is too cursed—"

"Heavy," Alanna finished for her as she stepped in and set a hand on Penelope's forehead, sending her to sleep. "Besides, if she'd been wearing it, the extra weight under the Hurrok might have crushed her."

"When do I get to be right?" Neal asked.

"When you stop asking impudent rhetorical questions," Alanna told him sweetly.

MMMM

Penelope woke at midmorning and found the infirmary full of sunshine. Dalton was pushing a strand of hair off her face and watching her intently.

"I know you think I'm pretty, but there's no need to stare," she muttered, a sure sign that she was feeling better.

"Actually," he told her seriously, "at the moment, your face is ghastly pale, your hair is tangled, and you've drooled in your sleep." He grinned. "But your general aliveness is very attractive," he added, helping her to sit up and setting a tray on her lap.

She realized suddenly that she was ravenously hungry and she worked her way through a bowl of porridge and a large plate of bread and jam while Dalton gave her a proper account of the battle's ending and her journey to the infirmary.

"So I didn't dream that you were talking to me," Penelope murmured, passing him her tray.

Dalton shrugged sheepishly and moved to sit beside her on the bed. "I ordered you not to die with our whole lives in front of us. Then I was horribly afraid it would backfire because you're so stubborn about being told what to do."

"I'm pretty stubborn about staying alive too," she assured him sleepily as her eyelids fluttered shut.

"That's what Alanna told Neal," he said, wrapping an arm around her as she drifted into sleep.

PDPD

Dalton's arm was still around her when she woke and he was snoring lightly against her neck.

"Good," Alanna muttered from the doorway. "He needs the sleep. Don't you dare get up."

Penelope, in fact, was scarcely given permission to move for the next few days, a restriction that frustrated her and tried Dalton's considerable patience. This was partly Dalton's own fault since he refused to leave her side.

PDPD

"I'll go mad if I stay here any longer," Penelope said on the third morning, after the endless rotations of eating and sleeping had lost its limited appeal. "Let's go find Neal."

She climbed awkwardly out of bed and shoved her feet into slippers. Since there wasn't any other clothing available, Penelope decided to ignore the fact that she was still in her nightgown.

"You're not supposed to tire yourself," Dalton told her as he followed her out the door. "The healers all said you shouldn't get out of bed for a week."

"It's been two days," Penelope told him. "And you're excellent company, but another hour of staring at the ceiling would kill me."

"So would pulling open your wound and bleeding to death."

Penelope shrugged. "You won't let that happen. Besides, I want to see what kind of progress Neal's made on the book." This was true, but mostly because it gave her a reason to get out of bed.

"What book?"

"He's writing a history"—her breath came heavily as they reached the middle of the staircase—"of Tortall's Warrior Women"—she wheezed—"from Grenalia of Corus through the Lioness and Mindelan."

They reached the top of the stairs and she tried to double her pace, eager to sit again in one of Neal's chairs. "He's keeping it secret until it's finished though so don't—"

Penelope reached for the wall to keep herself from falling as a wave of dizziness hit her. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head.

"Dalton, I—" The request for help started shooting from her lips before she could swallow it back.

But he knew how much she hated needing help and he had an arm wrapped around her waist before she had to finish asking.

"I'm not going back to the infirmary," she told him once the corridor had stopped spinning.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to fight with you," Dalton told her calmly. He brushed a bit of hair from her face and they continued walking towards Neal's door. "An argument might exhaust you in your current state," he added teasingly. "And Neal is closer." He took advantage of their closeness, turning his face sideways to kiss her.

It took them several more minutes to travel the twenty paces to the Queenscove suite and Neal met them at it with an irate expression and a handful of healing magic.

"Can't you control her?" he muttered as soon as he was sure she hadn't torn out any stitches. "You ought to have been able to keep her in bed for another day at least."

Penelope opened her mouth to protest but found she was too busy catching her breath.

"You, sir, didn't even try." Dalton scooped Penelope's legs out from underneath her and deposited her in an armchair.

Neal scowled at both of them. "No, I've never been a champion of hopeless causes."

"Speaking of which—" Penelope yanked Dalton down to share the chair with her—"how's the book coming?"

"Slowly, since I keep interrupting my research to patch people up." Neal glanced pointedly at Dalton.

"We'd both be happy to help, sir—at least for a few days until Lady Alanna drags me away."

Neal frowned. "And how do I know you can keep it secret?"

Dalton shrugged. "Well, I haven't told anyone about your attempts to avoid courting Lady Aronella—" he stretched out a hand to lift Neal's manuscript from the desk—"yet."

"And you won't," Neal said quickly, "because it might force me to drag my lovely squire to a remote corner of Tortall for the next year.

"With our injuries?" Penelope smiled sweetly. "I should think not."

"Very well." Neal sighed and gestured for Dalton to open the book. "Does George still start his blackmail tutorial by listing all of your vulnerabilities?"

"No, he still lists all of yours, sir." Dalton smiled. "He said they were especially illustrative."

"Well," Penelope said, "I'll have to help him update his list then."

_Thanks for reading. Next chapter will cover midwinter and will be up soon. _


	9. Midwinter Again

"Ready

_Many grateful thanks to my lovely reviewers. Sorry about the delay in updates—this chapter's endured a flooded air conditioner, a runaway dog, and a power outage. Recognizable characters and real estate belong to Tamora Pierce. This chapter corresponds to chapter 23 of Training Master Mindelan. Enjoy!_

"Lady Alanna's at the gates." Page Roland's call echoed loudly across the practice courts, inspiring both Wyldon—so that he could depart from the vicinity as quickly as possible—and Penelope—so that she could run to the stables to meet Dalton—to end their practice bout as fast as possible.

Penelope attacked suddenly, but accidentally dropped her guard in the process and found herself disarmed by Wyldon's renewed attack. They nodded at each other as she scooped up her sword and then Penelope sprinted away from her strategic defeat, leaving Wyldon to start for his rooms at a brisk-but-dignified walk.

Dalton was just dismounting, wincing as his cold feet hit the ground, when Penelope barreled into him. He dropped his reins to catch her and kiss her and spin her around. His horse blew out his lips in a long-suffering manner, rolled his eyes at Alanna and George, and wandered patiently into the nearest empty stall.

"You're healed," Dalton marveled, setting her down and realizing that such a vigorous greeting might have ripped stitches a few weeks before.

"A common side-effect of time or so I'm told."

"By Queenscove?" Dalton wrapped an arm around her waist and they started after his horse.

Penelope tilted her head and kissed his jaw. "In his most dry and dulcet tone."

They unsaddled, brushed, and fed Dalton's horse in silence, pausing to let their fingers tangle together whenever they reached for the same piece of equipment and lingering to kiss whenever they accidentally-intentionally bumped into one another.

Penelope waited until they had each slung a saddlepack over opposite shoulders and were walking hand-in-hand for the squires' quarters before breaking their intimate quiet.

"I think we should go visit the Chamber door," she muttered.

His fingers tightened around hers. "Have you been yet?"

She nodded. "I snuck out just after our last pages' tests."

"I went the morning after I learned I'd be with the Lioness." He frowned. "But I didn't—I mostly only remembered things."

"Me too." Penelope glanced sideways at him. "That's why I need to go again."

"Together?" he asked.

Penelope swallowed. "I'd rather, but we don't have—"

"We'll set my things down and go," Dalton said quickly, wondering why he could ignore the door's call, but not Penelope's request.

PDPD

"Ready?" Dalton whispered, interlacing his fingers with Penelope's as they approached the door to the Chamber of Ordeal. The chapel was still empty but they didn't have much time because servants would soon be coming in to clean it in preparation for the next day's ceremonies.

"No, I'll never be ready," Penelope said honestly, "on three then."

They counted off together in a solemn whisper before setting their free palms against the door. Penelope shuddered as the room went suddenly dark and cold. Then hot again because she was trapped under the Hurrok once more, completely unable to move. Only this time she could see out from underneath it, so she had a perfect view of Neal and Dalton being beaten to death by dark-clothed swordsmen.

And then, just as suddenly, it was over, and Dalton was running desperate fingers across her face and she was reaching out to grab his shoulders. They each needed proof that the other was alive. The vision had looked so real, sounded real, smelled real, even tasted real—Penelope shuddered and swallowed back bile. Dalton's fingers found her pulse and he left them there, curled gently around her neck.

She gripped his shoulders to pull him closer and he winced, cursing quietly.

"You're hurt," she said, loosening her grip as she stepped closer. "Why didn't you tell me? We shouldn't have come down here."

"It's nearly healed already," Dalton told her. "We were ambushed by a few archers last week. Alanna took care of it right away."

Penelope ignored him, undoing a few buttons on his shirt and pushing it away until she found the wound; it had been deep but it was healing.

"A few inches lower and it would have hit your heart," Penelope muttered.

Dalton answered by pulling her closer so that her cheek rested against his chest. She listened as his heartbeat settled back into a steady pace. "It was just a stupid vision," he told her, but his voice was shaking badly. "I think the Chamber shows us what we can least bear to see."

Penelope blinked, spilling tears onto his shirt, and nodded. She stepped back and took his hand once more. "Let's leave then."

PDPD

"I can't believe it will be us next year," Dalton murmured, wrapping his hands around a mug. They were sitting in Penelope's room, in the squires' wing, drinking tea beside her tiny desk. Somehow, after their experience at the Chamber door, neither of them had felt like joining any of the festive midwinter gatherings throughout the palace.

Penelope nodded and took a sip of tea. "I have no idea where I'm going to go when I finish—there's no point in my going back to Proudcreek, I'll inherit the estate but Aunt won't let me manage anything there while she's alive—it's like everything leads up to becoming a knight and then just stops."

"We could always stay here a few years," Dalton reminded her, "and enlist in the King's service."

Penelope felt a wide grin crack across her face. "Yes, _we_ could," she said. "We'd get to travel that way."

"I'd like to spend some time on the Northern border, perhaps," Dalton muttered absently, setting down his tea, "we'd get to see all the places Mindelan and the others talk about. We should have a little adventure to celebrate surviving six and a half years of madness."

She sighed quietly. "It has been madness, but I think I'm going to miss it—well not the gossip and the death threats—but I will miss most of it."

"Me too. I'll miss it, except saying goodbye to you." He stood and bent to kiss her. "Speaking of which, it's late. I should wish you goodnight." He lingered another moment to kiss her again and then sighed and turned away.

Penelope's heart beat wildly as she stood and followed him halfway to her open door.

"Stay." The invitation, half-question, half-command, fell from her lips before he stepped out.

Dalton turned around and swept his eyes over her. "Are you sure?"

She quirked her lips into a shy smile. "When am I not?"

Dalton remembered a time when she hadn't been sure of anything, but he realized now that her uncertainties seem to have died away over the past few months. He glanced back at the open door and then stepped slowly towards her, eyes blazing and hands trembling. "I thought you wanted to wait until—"

"I know I'm going to win my shield next winter," she said, untying her braid. "And I know that I'll have earned it fairly. I know I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But I know our lives are dangerous and I don't know if either of us will be alive next year." She shook her head and dropped her face so that her hair fell softly around her face, gleaming in the candlelight.

Dalton stepped close enough to feel the warmth of her breath and trailed his fingers through her hair. "I don't want to leave." He slid a finger under her collar, checking to be sure of the chain and the charm he'd noticed there months before. "Neither of us should be alone after what we saw."

She kissed him on her way to the door. "And we know my reputation is a long lost cause—" she smiled cheekily—"and so is yours for that matter" she added. Dalton smiled at the giddy jump in his heart as she locked the door with a quick deliberate motion.

PDPD

For the first night in many weeks, Penelope did not dream of crumpling Hurroks or Sir Kendal's impalement. She woke once, chilled when Dalton shifted away from her. But he was only grabbing a blanket, which he wrapped about both of them. "Go back to sleep," he murmured into her hair, and she slept until just before dawn.

PDPD

George chuckled as Alanna pulled several thin silk layers into bed and began dressing under the covers. "I doubt your squire will be glad to see you this midwinter."

"This morning," she replied, "I think he would cheerfully submit to being bound hand and foot and beaten with a wooden practice sword or forced to drill through seven thousand left sweeps. Of course, I have something more practical in mind."

"You're still a cruel woman," he said, reaching over to pull Alanna's braid out from beneath her first layer, "dragging a tired lad from his bed at this hour of the morning—on midwinter."

Alanna blinked innocently. "I've no intention of dragging him from _his _bed."

"Indeed?" George cocked his head to one side as though preparing to pounce. "Do I detect an incipient wager?"

"Three nobles he's in Penelope's," she said.

George shook his head. "I don't make loosing bets. We both know they disappeared together last night. And I saw the look on their faces when they met yesterday. He won't be in his room."

"He might be," Alanna wheedled, her voice slightly muffled as she squirmed into a third undershirt. "What if he pulled a noble gentleman act and kissed her goodbye at the door?"

"On a night that cold?" George propped himself up on one elbow and leaned over to kiss her. "I wouldn't have."

"Really?" Alanna kissed him back.

"How do you know he didn't slip back to his own room after?"

George countered.

"On a night that cold?" Alanna flinched as he peeled back the covers and then snuggled into his arms. "Besides, you wouldn't have."

George smiled crookedly and kissed her temple. "I will, however, bet you that Mindelan finds out and does nothing to stop it."

"Three nobles," she muttered, sealing the deal with another kiss. "Mindelan won't let herself find out."

George smiled. "You underestimate her. Or Dom's influence."

PDPD

It seemed that Penelope and Dalton opened their eyes at the exact same moment. They blinked sleepily at each other before untangling their limbs, stretching, and resettling themselves in each other's arms.

"Happy midwinter," he whispered, kissing her cheek.

Penelope smiled. "I'd forgotten."

"Me too. I only remembered just—"

There was a loud knock at the door and they both stiffened and sat up.

"Don't bother answering, Penelope," Lady Alanna said from outside. They glanced at each other, blushing. "But if you should have the good fortune to encounter Dalton before I do this morning, kindly remind him that one cannot learn Shang fighting in bed and that I expect to see him on the practice courts in ten minutes time even if it is midwinter." Her footsteps marched away briskly.

"She's teaching you Shang fighting?" Penelope asked enthusiastically and then she closed her eyes as she considered the rest of the message. "I don't want to know how she knows," she muttered.

Dalton laughed and reaching for his clothes. "I'd better go meet her now if we want her to remain amenable to this sort of arrangement."

Penelope nodded reluctantly and began to dress herself.

MMMM

Neal coughed quietly as Dalton stepped away from Penelope's door. Dalton cursed silently and wondered whether or not Neal had already consumed his morning tea—he hoped he'd had just enough to be genial but not enough to be clearheaded. He willed a blush away from his cheeks as he met Neal's eyes.

Neal merely raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in a curious manner that had Dalton fighting the urge to squirm or run away. Neal definitely seemed to expect something.

"I love her," he muttered, but got no response from Neal. "We'll be careful. We won't get caught. She's nearly dressed; she'll be on the practice courts in a few minutes. Please don't kill me, Queenscove. That would make for a very dismal midwinter celebration."

Neal chuckled darkly. "Don't worry. I'm reasonably certain this was her idea and it's none of my business anyway." He shrugged and pulled on his cloak. "I'd threaten to kill you if you break her heart but I'm sure she'll be able to manage that on her own."

Dalton nodded.

"So," Neal continued. "Make sure she takes care of herself and I'll do my best to make her guilty and miserable in the unlikely event that she should hurt you." Neal extended his hand and Dalton shook it. "And one more thing," Neal told him, "have her check to see that the hall is clear before you leave tomorrow morning. You wouldn't want to shock Mindelan or Wyldon as they were walking through."

Dalton nodded, blushing, and hurried off, but Neal stood waiting outside his squire's door until she opened it. He couldn't decide if he was too old to manage this sort of thing or not old enough to handle it.

"You listened through the door didn't you?" he said as soon as she emerged.

Penelope shrugged, blushing slightly and biting her lip.

"Good. That should spare us both some agonizing embarrassment. We'll do this quickly and avoid eye contact. Here goes: don't get pregnant, don't break his heart, and don't ever tell Wyldon or Mindelan about this conversation."

Penelope lifted her head. "What conversation, sir?"

Neal found himself grinning as Penelope stepped forward and hugged him. "Happy midwinter," he told her.

"That wasn't so bad. You've gotten calmer over the years, better at this sort of thing," Penelope muttered, stepping off towards the practice courts. "Your daughter is going to thank me for that one day," she called over her shoulder.

PDPD

Alanna was rather more forthcoming with her advice. She left Dalton practicing kicks and pulled Penelope into a corner, ostensibly to perfect her Shang punch.

"I'm sorry," Penelope muttered because it seemed like she ought to say something humble.

Alanna examined Penelope's fist. "Do you regret anything you've done?"

Penelope blinked. "Recently? No, not at all."

"Then don't lie"—Alanna nudged one of Penelope's knuckles—"about being sorry."

"But you had to look for—"

"It's not looking if you already know exactly where someone is." Alanna smirked. "Fix your stance."

Penelope stepped her feet shoulder width apart. "You aren't ang—"

"I'm not a hypocrite—"Alanna shrugged—"or at least I try to avoid what Neal calls 'especially egregious hypocrisy'." She pulled Penelope's arm a few inches away from her side. "If anything…I'm nostalgic."

"Nostalgic?" Penelope accidentally straightened an arm, her fingers uncurling wildly.

Alanna twitched her lips together and tilted her chin pointedly at Penelope's slipped form. "Speaking of which, your door does have a good lock?"

Penelope nodded and fixed her posture.

"Good. Use it. It will be the one time you forget that someone stops by for an early morning visit."

Penelope raised one fist and one eyebrow. "Personal experience?"

"Raoul came back late after a night of drinking and didn't bother knocking on Jon's door." Alanna winced. "I rolled off the bed so fast I bruised every bone in my body and then spent the longest ten minutes of my life introducing my bruises to the raging horde of dust bunnies under his bed. Luckily Raoul was too drunk to notice my sneezes."

Penelope managed to laugh softly. "I'll dust thoroughly and lock regularly."

Alanna nodded. "I wouldn't want…carelessness to come between the two of you. You're good for him."

Penelope blinked—she usually thought of Dalton as good for her, a buffer against her self-criticism—suddenly aware that, though she might never have Dalton's mother's approval, she had his knight master's.

"You make him more…thoughtfully impulsive."

"Is that a good thing?" Penelope frowned. "Is it possible?"

"For Dalton—yes on both counts." Alanna moved suddenly and sent Penelope falling into a roll. "Just as he makes you more realistically idealistic."

Penelope wasn't sure she'd heard right, but she was too busy trying to spring to her feet and stay there to ask for clarification.

PDPD

They both attended the midwinter ball that evening. Penelope even wore a simple gown of Proudcreek indigo, in penance for failing to appear at the previous night's gathering. (Though she had to admit that she liked the way Dalton's smile brightened and Neal's eyebrows lift when they saw her in it.)

And she did not protest when—later in the evening—Dalton drew her into a fast-paced waltz, though they did not move together as gracefully as they would have if they'd both been holding weapons. Their strong, quick steps were striking enough to catch a few eyes, but they remained oblivious to their audience.

"It's probably late enough for us to make a discrete exit," Dalton murmured.

Penelope's eyes widened as she smiled but she did not break her step.

"You can leave after this dance, and I'll leave after the following."

"But…"She frowned and Dalton hesitated a moment.

"We're both headed for the same place?" he asked, suddenly worried they weren't.

Penelope nodded, her frown vanishing.

Dalton grinned. "Then walking separately will only keep the conservatives quiet."

Penelope laughed. "That's almost as much fun as keeping them confused.

PDPD

"I don't think I've ever seen her dance before," Dom muttered absently.

"They _do _learn the steps as pages," Kel said.

"And she seems to make certain exceptions for that lad," George remarked.

"Though not, apparently, learning a lady's steps," Neal put in. "She keeps trying to lead."

Dom shrugged. "A rather admirable trait," he said, his fingers settling for a moment on Kel's forearm.

"And one likely to improve with age," George added, watching Alanna step on the king's toes as she danced with him.

Dom moved away to speak with a few men of the Own and Kel found herself watching the two squires again, watching the familiar way Dalton's fingers settled against Penelope's waist and the way Penelope tilted her head to whisper something to him.

"Be careful, training master," Neal murmured in an attempt to distract her from her observations. "Your expression is in danger of becoming highly sentimental—if the dagger may presume to call the knife sharp."

PDPD

Dalton woke—surprised only by how unsurprised he was to find himself in Penelope's room—in the middle of the night and propped himself up on one elbow, watching Penelope, listening as her breath took on the questioning tone of semi-wakefulness, and wondering he if ought to kiss her once more and sneak back to his own room before morning.

He drew breath to whisper her name, but she hooked her knee around his before he could.

"How did you know?" he muttered.

She shrugged, blinking at him. "Same way I know when someone's about to feint left I suppose."

He nodded. "I'm not going anywhere." He wouldn't have been able to anyway. And now that she was awake he was reminding himself how much worse it would look if he left her room in the middle of the night than it would look first thing in the morning.

"Good." Penelope pulled her leg away, kicking the blankets off, only to scoot closer.

Dalton retrieved the blankets and pulled them up again, pausing to trace his fingers over a scar on her shoulder: a crescent—silvery in the faint moonlight from her window— beautiful proof of her durability and vulnerability.

"Angry centaur," she murmured, her eyes drifting shut as though she were completely untroubled by the memory, "unexpectedly good aim with an abandoned spade." She settled her forehead against his shoulder.

"About tomorrow…" Dalton began.

"Don't ask—just assume you'll sleep here. And the next night and the next…" But she stopped there because she did not want to count the nights they could have together when the midwinter holiday was so short.

Dalton swallowed, but managed to keep his voice light. "So you don't care if I wind up wearing the same clothes all week?"

Penelope peeled one eye open. "Would they smell like you?"

"Very much so, I'm afraid."

"Then, no, not particularly." She realized what she'd said and opened her other eye, lifting her head to find him biting down a laugh. "I suppose you'll have to get up early and visit your room before morning practice."

Dalton kissed her cheek, chuckling softly as she closed her eyes again. "I'll wake you up to check the hall." He settled his head on the pillow.

"You listened to Queenscove," she murmured.

"Apparently so did you."

_Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter should be up in about 2 weeks. _


	10. Frozen

_Hello again. Many thanks to my most excellent reviewers, who kept me inspired as I began the scary process of finding a publisher for my original manuscript. This chapter picks up a few days after the last and includes material from chapter 25 of Training Master Mindelan as well as characters from the works of Tamora Pierce. _

Penelope did not wake Dalton early—not that they had ever managed to wake truly early, they had been late to the practice courts all week—on the last morning of the midwinter holiday, their last together for the foreseeable future. Instead, she settled against his chest and they lingered together, pretending to sleep and letting their eyelids flutter open every so often to watch one another.

Eventually they peeked at the same time. Dalton chuckled and rolled over, dislodging Penelope and then pinning her to the pillows for a kiss. She smiled sleepily at him as they propped themselves onto opposite elbows.

"I can't believe it's over," she murmured.

"Nothing's over, Pen."

"I know—but I just—I like waking up this way." She glanced down at his foot resting across her calf.

"We will again." He took her hand, skimming his thumb over her knuckles. "Everyday, if we marry."

His words startled both of them. Dalton swallowed and Penelope dropped her gaze to the sheet, tightening her grip on his fingers to keep her hand from shaking. It seemed impossible that she should be so close to having knighthood and Dalton. Surely she would be forced to give up one of them.

"I—when I started, I assumed I was forfeiting marriage.

"I wasn't expecting to sleep with a fellow squire when I started," Dalton muttered, releasing her hand so he could trace a scar on her arm.

"I didn't—you aren't here because—"she swallowed, nearly choking on her dry tongue—"I'm not trying to blackmail you into marriage."

"I know," he whispered. "What if I'm trying to blackmail you into it?" He wrapped an arm around her and pressed his lips to her temple.

She was too busy trying to hide her tremble to answer. Her lips were too unsteady to form the words 'yes' or 'maybe' or 'please'.

He sighed and stood to dress. She stood when he had finished and took a hesitant step toward him, feeling that she ought to somehow meet him halfway and afraid that she was failing miserably at it.

He reached out and smoothed back a bit of her hair. "Hey. I don't know what…I shouldn't…"

Penelope's heart lurched.

"Anyway, I hope we'll see each other soon. And we'll be"—he traced his fingers across her cheek and she caught his palm and kissed it, trying to show him what she could not find the words to tell him—"as we were."

She nodded dismally at him as he left.

PDPD

Alanna watched Dalton as he saddled his horse, moving very slowly.

"You proposed, didn't you?" she asked quietly.

Dalton nodded glumly. "Words popped out of my mouth."

Alanna blinked at George and stepped towards Dalton. "Did she slap you?"

Dalton shook his head.

"Scream? Kick? Cry? Or glare?"

"She wouldn't look at me."

Alanna wrapped her fingers around his shoulder, unsure which of the two squires she was sorry for. "Probably terrified," she said.

Penelope burst into the stables then, red-cheeked from running and sloppily dressed.

She'd been crying, he realized, but her eyes were dry now. She took his hand and drew him a few paces away from Alanna and George, who nonchalantly occupied themselves with saddling Dalton's horse.

"I can't yet," she whispered. "But I couldn't just watch you leave like that. I—"

Dalton felt himself nod slightly—his heart seizing her 'yet'—and she practically leapt forwards to kiss him.

They both seemed calmer when they finally drew apart, which Dalton absently attributed to shortness of breath.

"Later," he managed to say. "Love you."

She nodded. "Love you." And she went on tiptoe to kiss his cheek on her way out.

"Really," George said, clapping Dalton on the shoulder. "You don't have much to complain of."

"Nor does she," Alanna murmured.

PDPD

A few weeks later, following a series of threats, Penelope and Neal were called to join a troop of soldiers—including Alanna and Dalton—under the command of Cleon of Kennan at the River Drell met at the camp along the River Drell.

"Your pointed foot-tapping will not make me pack any faster," Neal informed her as they prepared to leave.

"But it might make you let me pack for you and I can do it faster."

"You fold shirts the wrong way," Neal informed her.

"I fold them the fast way," she corrected, watching as he lined up two sleeves. "And you'll only unfold them again anyway. Why bother?"

"You've just surpassed your philosophical questions quota for the week." Neal gave up on folding and simply crammed his last shirt into his pack.

"That was a rhetorical." Penelope released a withering sigh.

"We'll leave tomorrow and get there in a few days, regardless," Neal muttered, narrowing his eyes at her. "Why so impatient?"

She attempted a nonchalant shrug.

"Did you quarrel with Dalton?"

Penelope shook her heard and Neal believed her. It was close enough to the truth; one couldn't really quarrel silently, especially when one wanted desperately to agree.

"Because Alanna and I have already agreed that I get to keep him as my squire if you two separate—he doesn't crack his knuckles during breakfast."

"By that you mean that you suggested the idea and she didn't threaten immediate dismemberment," Penelope muttered. "By the way, he snores."

"I'm not supposed to know that you know that."

"Forget I said it then." Penelope tucked his logbook into the side of his pack.

"What?"

"Can you love someone too much?"

"Don't waste your last philosophical question on that," Neal said, tying his pack shut. "I don't have an answer."

PDPD

When they arrived, Penelope scanned Dalton's face for anger and regret. She found only very patient determination and a blaze of something so intense and unnamable it made her breath catch.

He nodded at her—they could not kiss as they wanted to before their new commander and an entire troop—and they traded glances throughout the meeting.

Penelope stared curiously at Cleon of Kennan as he gave commands for night watch duty that evening. There'd been vague rumors about him and Mindelan, but Penelope hadn't had a chance—that is to say, Neal hadn't drunk enough—to investigate them thoroughly. All Penelope could determine was that he was tall and a solid, practical commander. His sense of humor—if he had one—was currently buried and she couldn't imagine him being anything more than a friend of Mindelan's, if that.

"I want a few squires watching that wooded clump on the riverbank," Cleon said. "You"—he pointed at Penelope and she stepped forward—"and you can take first shift." Penelope swallowed when she saw the other squire he'd selected. It was Gregory, an old enemy from her page days.

Penelope nodded and turned towards the riverbank. She walked past the rest of camp without bothering to see that Gregory was following her. She took up a position a few feet from the partially iced-over river and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

"I heard about your little tussle with Marcel," Gregory muttered.

His tone suggested that the version he'd heard from Marcel wasn't strictly accurate. This didn't surprise Penelope as Marcel could hardly be expected to tell his friends that she'd had him on his back with a swordpoint to his neck a few seconds after he'd made a distasteful proposition and told her that "Dalton wouldn't mind sharing".

Penelope raised her eyebrows, lifting her hand to her belt knife. She'd grown accustomed to long silences over the years and resolved to treat Gregory to a particularly awkward one. They both stood motionless, listening to the sound of the rest of the camp settling in for the night.

"Your luck's going to run out eventually, you know," Gregory hissed when he could no longer stand the quiet.

"Good thing I get by on talent then, isn't it?" Penelope answered before she could remind herself not to encourage him.

"Your looks won't last long either," Gregory said. He glared at her when she didn't respond and stepped towards her. "You'll be covered in scars in a few years and then not even Dalton will want you," he added.

Penelope gazed calmly at the river as a patch of ice broke off and drifted downstream. It was true that she had a few sizable scars on her upper arms, but Dalton's only response had been to trace them gently with his fingers so she rather doubted Gregory's last statement.

"And when they don't want you anymore," Gregory added, taking another step towards her, "they'll stop leaping in to protect you."

Penelope tensed. She suspected he was trying to pick a fight, but she didn't know what kind of disciplinarian Cleon would be. If Gregory swung first, she wouldn't be accused of abandoning watch duty to fight him.

"Yes," Penelope muttered. "I'm sure you must be dreading the day. It will be difficult to explain why you're afraid to duel a woman half your size."

That gave Gregory the encouragement he was looking for and he seized her by the elbow. Penelope drove her knee to his groin and twisted away, stepping just short of the river. A sharp knock to the head unbalanced her and she just had time to realize that it was not Gregory's fist, but a rock thrown from across the river, before she toppled over. Her body broke through the ice instantly and she shrieked as she went under. She came up gasping, just as Gregory grunted and landed beside her with a splash that drove them both under.

Penelope tried to surface again but found that the current had drawn her under another patch of ice. She clawed at it futilely. A hand grabbed her roughly by the wrist and dragged her out. Her limbs were already so stiff and numb as to be useless, but Penelope struggled anyway to break free from Gregory.

"Truce," he hissed. And Penelope nodded automatically. In the distance she could hear knights from their camp scrambling towards the river. Their shouts must have woken someone.

"Good," Gregory muttered through chattering teeth. "We've got to get out of this. Look—I'm tall enough I can keep you from going under—but my foot's trapped—I need--"

Penelope nodded again. Neither of them had time to argue. "Grab my ankle," she ordered and dove. It took all her strength to prize the submerged log off of Gregory's boot and she nearly forgot herself and tried to gasp underwater once she'd managed it.

Gregory jerked her to the surface and together they fumbled their way towards the bank and dragged each other onto land. Cleon, closely followed by Alanna and Neal, reached them just as they were stumbling to their feet.

"What's happened?" Cleon demanded.

Neither of them answered. Neal pulled Penelope under his cloak and she realized that she'd lost her own sometime underwater. That was probably for the best since the weight of it might have pulled her too far under the ice. Then she'd have been stuck in the cold and the dark, unable to breath, just like Sir Kendal had…

Alanna slapped Gregory across the face and then shook roughly Penelope by the shoulders and shoved a small flask into her hands.

"I know," Alanna told them. "It's the second scariest thing in the world and quite possibly the coldest."

Penelope found herself shivering uncontrollably as she resolved never to ask the lady knight what she thought was the scariest thing in the world.

"Drink," Alanna ordered. "And then report. We need to know if we're under attack."

The flask contained brandy and Penelope coughed as she passed it to Gregory.

"I don't think so," she muttered. "Gregory and I were—" Gregory caught her eyes and blinked slowly, pleadingly, and Penelope adjusted her story—"momentarily distracted when their sentries threw rocks at our heads." Neal's fingers were already skimming her scalp, finding and healing the painful lump and the tickling sensation distracted her from speaking.

Gregory took a third swallow of brandy and picked up the story. "She was hit first, but they hit me before I could spot them. We were pretty noisy when we hit the water so I think that warned them off. My foot got trapped and she slid under a patch of ice and I fished her out. Then she freed my foot and we swam clear." Alanna stood on tiptoe to heal the bump on Gregory's head.

Penelope nodded. "That's all there is to it. Sorry for the disturbance, sir."

Cleon frowned and dismissed the squires, asking Neal and Alanna to stand in until the next set of guards arrived. Gregory bowed and trotted away after Cleon, but Neal wrapped an arm firmly about Penelope's waist to keep her from following.

"You didn't tell us everything," he muttered.

Penelope was too cold to think of a plausible lie. "No, sorry—but we probably saved each other's lives. What happened before—I don't think it will happen again."

Neal started to protest, but Alanna cut him off. " It's none of your business. You have to let her deal with these things as she sees fit." Penelope swallowed and forced her lips into what she hoped was a brief, grateful smile.

Alanna grabbed Penelope by the shoulder. "You're freezing," she muttered. "Go to my tent, get out of your wet things, crawl in Dalton's bedroll, and warm up." Penelope decided that just because she thought this order was some sort of cold-induced hallucination was no reason to disobey it and she nodded quickly before stumbling away.

PDPD

Penelope trembled with more than cold as she peeled away her wet layers and pulled on a clean shirt of Dalton's. There was nothing like almost dying to make you realize you really wanted to spend your life with someone, she reflected.

He woke and murmured her name and her heart somersaulted. He blinked at her, glanced at her discarded wet clothing, and lifted the edge of his bedroll invitingly. Penelope hesitated a moment, afraid that he had come to his senses and decided never to mention marriage again, afraid that her courage would fail her if he did.

Then she crawled in beside him, letting his warmth drive away those horrible underwater moments.

"You're freezing," Dalton hissed as one of Penelope's feet brushed his leg. His first instinct was to flinch away from her icy skin and his second was to pull her closer and hold her until she stopped shivering. She fit wonderfully in his arms after their weeks apart and he knew George was right: he had nothing to worry about—except Penelope's life, apparently. "What happened out there?"

"I went swimming—unexpectedly," she murmured, slurring her words slightly as she settled her head on his shoulder. Sudden warmth, safety, and contentment were already lulling into sleep.

"Obviously," he muttered back and pushed her wet braid off his chest. "What did Gregory do? Did he try to—"

"No—he was just looking for a fight. And he would have gotten it if we hadn't both been idiots and gotten ourselves knocked into the river." She sighed and described her fall and Gregory's change of heart as her shivers subsided.

"And I thought it was hot water that's supposed to test character," Dalton whispered. She sighed again, but contentedly this time, and he watched her eyelids flutter shut. "You're probably right about him not bothering you again though. But Marcel..."

"Marcel's different; Gregory just wanted to beat me up to prove he could—he didn't want to sleep with me," she explained bluntly without opening her eyes. "Not that Marcel still wants to after…anyway he's scared of you even if he doesn't have the sense to be scared of me."

"Idiot," Dalton muttered.

"I can handle him," she told him sleepily. "And the rumors. It's not as if they're going to go away. People still say all sorts of things about Mindelan and the Lioness and they're—"

"Married," Dalton finished. "Something we should talk about soon."

Penelope opened her eyes and lifted her head slightly and Dalton worried that she was going to turn away as she had the first time he brought up the topic. "I think you know by now that, even though I stand to inherit a large estate eventually, my dowry, such as it is, consists of various bladed weapons and a cranky horse."

Dalton pulled her head back down onto his shoulder. "By eventually, I meant sometime when you aren't half-drowned and half-drunk."

"I'm hardly—" she began, knowing he'd been too patient already and afraid that if she did not settle this now she might never work up the courage again. But he covered her lips with one hand and kissed the top of her head to stop her protest.

"However, since you're unusually open to such discussion this evening, I ought to point out that as a fourth son I won't be inheriting any land. But I will get a sum generous enough for the two of us to live on—economically, for a few years—once I'm knighted."

She smiled and he lifted his fingers off her lips. "It sounds as though we're evenly matched then," she said, "and sharing is very economical." Then she yawned hugely and nodded off once more, leaving Dalton staring at the top of the tent with what he knew was a foolish grin plastered to his face until Alanna came to send him out for watch duty.

PDPD

The next morning, ambassadors from across the river arrived with formal apologies for the actions of the rogue soldiers who'd thrown rocks. This catalyzed the entire negotiation process and the old peace treaty was renewed by late afternoon. Tortall's troop began splitting up immediately, but most of the knights and squires traveled only as the nearest inn before nightfall.

Penelope didn't linger over supper. The previous evening's 'swim' was still wearing on her and the inn's table was so crowded that she'd found herself stuffed between Neal and another knight—far away from Dalton. She slurped down a bowl of lukewarm stew, crammed a ginger cake into her mouth, and staggered away.

Dalton was waiting for her at the top of the stairs. He kissed her lightly, his lips just brushing her temple, before speaking.

"I need to know last night really happened."

"Me too," she said as Dalton took her hand and drew her into his tiny, low-ceilinged room, "I certainly hope so." They unlaced their boots and kicked them off. "Because I wouldn't ever want to dream about Gregory or under-ice swimming, even as a prelude to far better things." She frowned. "But maybe it was a necessary evil."

Dalton raised an eyebrow and the hem of her tunic.

"It froze out all my fear of the future," she murmured, lifting her arms so Dalton could pull it off. It was true. She'd simply decided she didn't care what kind of life she was supposed to lead—she just wanted to keep her head above water and her heart happy.

Dalton tossed aside his own tunic and drew her into his arms. "So long as it doesn't come back now that you've warmed up," he added as she began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Not likely," she whispered, tilting her face up to kiss him. "So long as I'm marrying you."

PDPD

Penelope glanced out Dalton's tiny window when she woke, wondering how soon she needed to slip back to her own room beside Neal's.

"There's time," Dalton murmured. "We should talk."

Penelope nodded and kissed his cheek. "I don't want a ring—it would interfere with my grip."

Dalton grinned. "And you're keeping your land titles. I meant about the less-than-obvious."

Penelope sighed. "I suppose we should keep—"she hesitated only a moment—"our engagement secret until after we're knighted. The palace gossipers have enough fodder for the time being."

Dalton nodded. "I will have to write my family. I can't promise they'll be pleased, but I don't particularly care if they decide to disown--"

"Dalton, I can't ask you to—you don't know what you'd be giving up."

"Neither do you really," he murmured. She'd never met Dalton's stern, unyielding father and Penelope had only one relative to write: an aunt who had no choice but to pass along Penelope's property whether or not she approved of her decisions. "But I think we'll manage to show you eventually," he added, thinking of Alanna and George and Neal.

"How soon is eventually?"

"After our ordeals," he answered automatically. "Squires have never been allowed to marry."

"But they've already made so many odd exceptions for me," Penelope murmured mockingly. "Perhaps if you were to petition Wyldon—"

"I can wait," he assured her. "Or you could ask. He likes you better anyway."

"You do know what he'd think—what everyone would think if we suddenly got married this spring."

"Not ready to risk impregnation by palace gossip?"

She winced at his wording. "Is that even possible?"

"Have you noticed your proclivity for performing the impossible?"

She swallowed. "I can wait."

_But not too long, since chapter 11, which should run through the wedding, should be up in a few weeks. _


	11. Prepared

_Thank you for all your wonderful reviews and many apologies for the delay in updates. This chapter occurs several months after the previous chapter—in which Penelope finally accepted Dalton's proposal--(it's fall now) and contains material from chapter 28 of Training Master Mindelan as well as characters and real estate from Tamora Pierce's Tortall. _

Penelope found Neal paging reverently through a newly bound volume when she came to his study after morning glaive practice with Yuki.

"Is it really finished?" she asked eagerly, coming to perch on the arm of his chair. In response, he gently closed the book so she could read the title: _A History of Tortall's Warrior Women._ It was the book he'd been writing—with her help—for the past few years, all carefully recopied and neatly bound.

"Wow," she breathed.

"Yes," Neal said. "And since you've seen exactly how much effort has gone into this, I hope you'll be willing to wait at least ten years before doing anything to merit a chapter of your own. I need a break before I write the next edition."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Penelope told him, "Nessa and Kefira will probably want to help you with the writing in a few years."

Neal buried his forehead in his hands. "Yet another chapter."

Penelope returned the book to him with a consoling pat on the back and a condescending eye roll. "Are you going to give it to Mindelan when we get to the Swoop to help with fall camp?"

He only shrugged then and did not answer her properly until the next day when they set off on their journey from Queenscove to Pirates' Swoop.

"I'm not sure when I'll give it to her. I was thinking of saving it as a midwinter gift and—"

"But you are bringing it with you?" she asked hurriedly.

He nodded. "I'm not letting it out of my sight until I've given it to her. Not that I can actually look at it much, I'm too worried about dredging up all the imperfections."

"I think—" she began tentatively and waited for Neal's nod before continuing—"you should give it to her now. She's been a little gloomy since Tobe left with the Riders. And that way you won't keep trying to rewrite the thing before midwinter." Penelope straightened herself in the saddle. "In fact, I might just tell her about it myself. Then she'll demand to see it and you won't have any choice in the matter."

"And I might just point out to Mindelan how easy it would be for an agile squire to drop from the balcony of the guest quarters and swing in through Dalton's window."

Penelope raised her eyebrows with speculative interest. "Is it really?" Then she frowned at him. "You wouldn't."

"All you have to do is climb down the gargoyle on the left hand side," he explained. And then he added, "I would. I'm far too old to be aiding and abetting your assignations." He raised his chin haughtily. "Stalemate."

"Hardly," Penelope informed him, "I'll come up with something." Then she narrowed her eyes. "And how would you know how easy it is to slip from the guest balcony to the squire's room?"

"You don't honestly expect me to answer that one at his particular juncture?"

Penelope crinkled her nose in mock disgust. "You know I have higher standards of subtlety for my blackmail."

Neal grinned. "I know. I'm going to miss you next year."

"I'll miss you too. Now tell."

Neal sighed. "You see, when Lord and Lady Copperstream came to visit the Swoop, their eldest daughter—a rather bored and desperate but surprising athletic creature—happened (though I suspect the Baron might have had a hand in it) to be put in the room over mine and…"

All in all, it was a very informative and highly entertaining ride and Penelope was almost sorry to see it end when they arrived at the Swoop three days later.

PDPD

"They're here," Dalton called as soon as he spotted Neal and Penelope. He dropped the staff he'd been using to demonstrate technique to a group of first year pages and ran across the Swoop's courtyard. He didn't particularly care that he was abandoning his duties, especially since Mindelan's family and her pages, not to mention Alanna and George, were following him.

Penelope was laughing so hard with relief—it had been months since they'd seen one another—that she let him pull off her horse and spin her around. Then he kissed her, heedless of George and Alanna's wolf whistles and the younger pages scandalized giggling and Mindelan's reluctant frown, because, here at Pirates' Swoop, they could get away with it.

He kept a hand on her shoulder as she knelt to hug Mindelan's daughter, Kefira, and left his fingers just brushing her spine when she stood to shake hands with Alanna. He told himself this was because, even though their engagement was secret, he wanted to assure Neal that he meant to stand by Penelope, but it had more to do with the way she smiled whenever she glanced back at him. George shot them a knowing look and Dalton nodded back before turning to help Mindelan shoo the pages back to their drills.

They spent the afternoon helping the pages drill. Ostensibly anyway. They spent a great deal of it locking eyes over the heads the girls who flocked around Penelope. Even when Dalton was busy with his own students, he glanced over often, at first to see how she was getting along and then simply to admire the thoughtful way she frowned when she was trying to come up with advice or to catch the unguarded way she smiled when her charge nailed a stance perfectly. And once, when he saw Penelope tuck back the curls of a brown-haired page and wrapped her fingers over the girl's on the staff, he had to bite his lip to keep from running towards her.

PDPD

Dalton frowned slightly when Penelope pulled up the blanket at the foot of his bed. And she wondered how he could expect her to trot back to her room for appearance's sake when she so desperately wanted to fall asleep in his arms.

"I'm not leav—"

"Going anywhere," he finished, drawing her close against his chest and kissing her to prevent further protests. "I was just trying to remember when this blanket was last washed," he added, settling it around her shoulders.

Penelope sniffed an edge and shrugged. It didn't exactly smell of soap and sunshine, but she'd slept under worse.

"George handpicks the Swoop's servants, but not for their housekeeping skills," Dalton explained, gesturing around his room, which was too simply furnished to be truly messy despite the papers spread across his desk and the heap of dirty clothing in one corner.

"Good." Penelope yawned. "They'll probably be discrete about my unrumpled sheets then since I'm saving them laundry."

"I hope so," he murmured, "since I don't feel like getting up to check that the hallway's clear and—"he glanced at the window she'd lowered herself through—"I doubt you can swing back onto that balcony. Unless you have wings."

She laughed as he ran his fingers questioningly over her shoulder blade.

"I'm going to kill Queenscove," she muttered, glaring at the window he'd advised her to enter by. "He's finished his book," she added absently, settling her head against Dalton's chest.

"Has he?"

"Copied and leather bound."

"Good for him," Dalton murmured.

"He'd probably thank you for your research assistance," Penelope told him, "only no one's supposed to know it exists, not even Mindelan—which I mean to change soon."

Dalton laughed softly so as not to dislodge her. "Haven't you done enough as his living warrior maiden specimen? Not that you're exactly—"

"Actually," Penelope propped herself up on one elbow for a kiss that was not at all shy or maidenly, "only about five of them remained virgins throughout the duration of their military careers."

"That many?"

Penelope scowled at him. "Well it's difficult to get an exact count. Many married or took lifelong partners of one kind or another—several paired up with fellow swordswomen—and a few gained notoriety by sleeping their way through entire chains of command. Not that the earlier historians will come out and say any of this explicitly."

"Of course not," Dalton murmured, raising his head to kiss her cheek and then pulling her down to settle against his chest.

"Neal thinks it was almost a conspiracy to make them seem less like real women. He discussed it with Master Numair one night. After the third round of ale they theorized that "the record keepers deliberately desexualized the warrior maidens to reduce their threat to the male ego and the patriarchal collusion".

"Jealous idiots," Dalton summarized.

"Jealous ax-grinding—metaphorically, I mean, since obviously if they'd been grinding real axes they wouldn't have been writing histories—idiots," Penelope agreed.

"They really shouldn't have let such people write histories," Dalton muttered, cupping her head in his hand and tracing her ear with his thumb.

"I think they were too busy making history to worry about who wrote it." Penelope yawned.

"Lucky thing we have the Queenscoves of the world"—Dalton yawned in response—"to make amends."

"And misinform their squires," Penelope muttered, glancing once more in the direction of the window before she let her eyes drift shut.

"Remind me to thank him for that," Dalton whispered.

PDPD

Since Mindelan wasn't in the courtyard when Dalton glanced out his window, Penelope and Dalton didn't bother with the pretense of arriving separately for the impromptu dawn practice gathered there. They came hand-in-hand and kissed briefly before Penelope set off to duel Dom and Dalton to throw knives with George.

Mindelan did not join them until breakfast, which they ate quietly so they could listen to Neal brag about Penelope and evade questions about his own performance against Lady Alanna. Their leisurely morning was interrupted, however, when Roland came to tap at Mindelan's elbow.

"Henry says Peter wasn't in his cot this morning, lady knight. And none of the first year boys has seen him since last night." Roland swallowed and shuffled on his feet. "Some of his gear's missing too."

"He's probably hiding somewhere," Neal assured her. "I'm sure there's no need to panic."

But there was a note of unease in his voice that made Penelope and Dalton spring to their feet, grabbing apple pastries as they volunteered to search the castle and grounds.

Half an hour and one thorough search later, however, it was apparent that Peter had left the Swoop and left his horse behind in the stables.

"Cook says that a few loaves of bread and a dozen sweet biscuits vanished in the night," George added. "I'd say we have ourselves a runaway."

"But his horse," Penelope murmured, frowning. "Why wouldn't he have taken her?"

"I don't think Peter likes riding much, certainly not without servants to ready his horse for him," Mindelan muttered absently, "and he might not have been able to get a horse out the gate in any case." She shook her head and then stood. "Right, we'll probably find him fastest if we break into pairs." She pointed at Penelope and Dalton. "You two had better try to track him on foot. See if you can follow his trail before it starts raining."

"I'll stay with the lads and lasses," George assured Mindelan, stepping quickly forward. "I know you want to be out searching yourself."

Alanna nodded imperiously at her husband.

"Lady Keladry and I do not wish to find upon our return that you've trained a small army of young criminals in our absence," Alanna informed him.

MMMM

"What did Lady Alanna mean by that?" Penelope asked around mid-afternoon as she and Dalton tracked Peter's footprints along a path in the forest.

Dalton chuckled. "She's still a little bitter that he taught their children to pick pockets years ago. Of course, the fact that they're better at it than she is hasn't improved her temper." He stepped sideways and wrapped an arm around her waist. "She needn't worry though, the Baron will probably only teach them a bit of street fighting. He teaches really useful skills like lock picking and pick pocketing to a carefully selected, clever and trustworthy, few."

"How do you know all this?"

Dalton handed her a coin. She recognized it immediately as one from her belt pouch. She also thought it explained how Neal had managed to steal the last of the dried fruit from her saddlebag the previous month; the Baron had clearly had a hand in his education as well. "How did you—"

"I'll show you sometime. It's not difficult. It just takes lots of practice."

"Sounds familiar," she muttered. "We won't be having any children for you to tutor in criminal skills," she added, looking away.

"Are you sure?" he nudged her chin so that she faced him again. "I think the Lioness said something similar once and—"

But he was interrupted by a distant shout and they both took off running down the path.

They found Peter (or at least Penelope assumed that he was Peter since there weren't supposed to be any other pages running loose in the woods) partway up a tree, clinging to a halfway broken branch and calling for someone to get him down. He was about fifteen feet up and Penelope had serious doubts about his ability to climb down for himself.

"Why can't the calm rational ones run away for us to rescue?" Dalton grumbled, when their requests for silence failed utterly.

"The girls, you mean," Penelope muttered, "well, they're all there because they actually want to be pages and become knights, running away would rather defeat the purpose."

Dalton rolled his eyes at her briefly before surveying the situation. "I can't imagine why, since you, my dear soon-to-be-lady-knight, are about to put seven years of training to use by climbing a tree and dropping a spoiled brat down so that I can catch him."

Penelope scowled at Dalton and then at the still screaming page, wishing that she weren't the obvious candidate for the ascent. She sighed and started for the trunk. "You're lucky I'm not bothered my heights."

"I believe we established that last night," Dalton murmured, kissing her cheekbone quickly before he cupped his hands around her knee and boosted her into the tree.

It took her only a few moments to reach Peter's branch. Unfortunately, his screams doubled in volume when she tried to nudge him away from the trunk in order to sit beside him.

"Please be quiet, Peter," she said in a gentle tone that she usually reserved for horses, "or I shall be forced to knock you out of the tree."

Peter's jaws snapped shut and he turned to regard Penelope attentively. He had a few scrapes on his cheek, but otherwise seemed to be more frustrated and bewildered by the lack of servants attending to his every whim than actually hurt.

"Good," she murmured soothingly, "now just scoot to the side a little." He obeyed hesitantly. "Easy does it." Penelope braced herself on the branch, eyeing the break warily. "Now give me your hands. I'm going to lower you down so Dalton can help you." Peter gave a brief whimper when he realized his was dangling in midair. "He's very good about helping people," Penelope informed him, as Dalton winked to let her know that he was ready. "Even when they are too stubborn to ask for it," Penelope added as she released Peter.

Dalton caught the page easily and lowered him to the ground, just as a loud thunderclap shook the forest and the branch supporting Penelope snapped. She shrieked and grabbed a lower branch to stop her fall. After an awkward and painful scramble, she hit the ground with an inelegant thud.

"Are you hurt?" Dalton asked, pulling her to her feet.

"Not really, just a little—Mithros curse him," Penelope snarled as Peter vanished into the thick underbrush. She and Dalton exchanged exasperated glances before diving after him.

Peter was faster than he looked, Penelope admitted to herself as she narrowly avoided tripping over a fallen log. And he'd had the sense—or the stupidity, she wasn't sure which—to abandon the path entirely. She could only hear him crashing through the brush ahead of her; he had actually made it out of their line of sight.

It began raining heavily then, cold, fat drops that penetrated the layers of leaves and branches. Dalton cursed the weather, but his voiced was drowned out by another scream—this one genuinely terrified—from Peter. It was followed by an ominous silence and the two squires burst into a sprint. Which was a mistake, Penelope realized, as they both toppled over the edge of a short ravine and into the creek bed beneath it.

Penelope came to a few moments later and found herself blinking at the sky, wondering if her brains were oozing out the back of her head or if she just felt mud beneath her skull. She thought sitting up might be a good way to end the debate one way or another, but it seemed like too much effort. So she turned her head sideways instead and saw Dalton lying beside her with a large goose egg on his forehead. This frightened her into sitting up and checking his pulse.

He opened his eyes and stared groggily at her. "We're covered in mud," he observed, pushing himself into a sitting position. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Like I've been trampled by a centaur. You?"

"A whole herd—so, not much worse than after a particularly hard practice with the Lioness."

Penelope spat out a clump of mud and glanced around the creek bed. "There's the little monster," she muttered when she spotted Peter lying unconscious a few feet away. Then she settled her head against Dalton's elbow and they sat together for a few moments, watching the rainfall.

"This place will probably flood in a few minutes," Dalton murmured absently. Indeed, there was already about an inch of water in the creek bed. And the banks on either side of them were slick walls of mud; getting out would be difficult.

"I suppose we ought not to let him drown." Penelope forced herself to her feet and gave Dalton a hand up. They wobbled together towards the source of their unpleasant afternoon.

"That idea you had earlier—about not having children—I think it was brilliant."

Penelope bent down to grab Peter's shoulders. "I don't know. He seems much sweeter now that he's unconscious."

"And much heavier too," Dalton muttered as they lifted him. "So what's your brilliant plan for getting us out of here."

Penelope blinked at him. "I thought it was your turn to be brilliant."

He blinked back. "Head injury. I'm excused." Then he sighed. "The best I can come up with is walking downstream until we—"

"Find a surface that looks climbable," Penelope finished. Then, merely to distract herself from Peter's weight, because she knew the answer wouldn't make much difference, she asked, "so, have you written your family? About us, I mean."

Dalton nodded as they began slogging downstream, but waited a moment before answering. "I got one of the usual 'you're-free-to-find-your-own-failure' letters from my father—which means he's not going to stop us or support us. My mother would like to meet you but doesn't want to tell my father so."

Penelope shrugged. "I got a 'marriage-is-a-bad-idea-for-noblewomen-because-you-will-loose-rights-to-your-estate-but-he-sounds-like-a-decent-fellow-and-I-can't-stop-you-from-marrying-him' letter from my aunt."

"Right then, I suppose we'd better elope." There was something very casual and obvious about the way he said it, as though he were commenting on the rain again, that weakened Penelope's elbows so suddenly she nearly dropped Peter.

Penelope grunted an agreement as she readjusted Peter's deadweight. "After our ordeals we can—Dom, here, we've found him!" she shouted

'We're down in the creek," Dalton called.

Dom dismounted and walked to the edge of the ravine. "How did you manage this?"

"Ask him." Penelope glared at Peter, who twitched in his sleep and settled his head on her shoulder.

PDPD

"We're all wet and filthy," Neal muttered, as though personally offended, when he and Alanna found the group a short while later.

"I believe they still call it mud, Queenscove," Alanna told him. "I seem to remember we encountered a great deal of it during your squire years."

"We're quite alright," Penelope assured him. And then, as inspiration struck, she added, "I did bump my head though—during our fall—and I'm afraid I've been babbling a bit since then. Not sure what I've said really. I can't quite remember everything. And I've been talking an awful lot."

She'd actually been fairly silent and miserable, so Dalton shot her a questioning glance. She winked at him and mouthed the word "book".

He squeezed her hand and muttered vaguely, "she did hit her head pretty hard. She's been going on quite a bit—something about you and a book."

"Yes," Dom added wickedly as he sensed the opportunity presenting itself. "She can't seem to stop talking about it."

Neal glared at Penelope but she only raised her eyebrows innocently.

MMMM

So he gave the book to Mindelan that evening, dropping by her quarters and simply handing it to her without preamble once they had all cleaned up and Alanna had declared Peter to be "on the mend but probably never knight material to begin with."

Penelope watched from the doorway as Mindelan accepted it and read the first three pages in silence before hugging him so tightly he could hardly breathe.

"I—wow—Neal—this is quite the surprise—thanks—I promise never to mock your scholarly habits again." She grinned at him. "Though they're probably not the sort of bedtime story that will encourage Kefira to actually fall asleep."

Neal chuckled. "No, I cannot guarantee a soporific effect on small girls." He turned to leave, forcing Penelope to duck out of site, and then glanced back at her. "I was going to wait for midwinter, but then…Penelope didn't actually give me away, did she?"

Mindelan winked at Penelope. "She didn't say anything beyond "thanks for pulling us up" and "you might want to think about sending this one back to his parents." She sprang forward and hugged Neal, who scowled at Penelope.

"That was a cheap shot, lady squire."

Penelope shrugged. "It got the job done. And you wouldn't have wanted me to waste an elaborate hoax, would you?"

PDPD

"He'd have loved it actually," Dalton whispered as Penelope passed the pillar he'd been hiding behind. "Because it would justify long-winded complaints." He took her hand when she smiled and they walked silently out to the Swoop's walls.

Penelope sat on the wall, letting her legs dangle over the edge as she watched the ocean. Dalton wrapped an arm around her waist and stood beside her, his head resting against her arm. They talked about apples and autumn, long swords and literature, horses and pickpockets—about everything and nothing in particular.

It was pleasant to simply be together and talk without a pressing problem to solve. It was also a little strange. And Penelope's mind kept drifting back to their earlier conversation—the one that Dom's arrival at the creek had interrupted.

"Dalton?" she murmured, interrupting her own description of Neal's last attempt to cook fish. "About what you said earlier—Can we really elope?"

Dalton set his free hand over her knee. "We'll have to." He swallowed, thinking regretfully of his father's angry letter, which he'd burned to keep from Penelope and euphemistically summarized.

Penelope scooped his hand from her knee, taking it in both of hers, and swung her legs around to face him, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. "We'll need witnesses and a priest and—"

"We'll get them." Dalton wasn't going to let anyone stop them. He smiled at the irresistible light in her eyes. "If worst comes to worst, we can hold three people at swordpoint through a ten minute ceremony."

"That'll be memorable," Penelope sliding off the wall.

"But still legal." Dalton kissed her temple and took her hand to walk back inside.

"It happened to Lady Hesia three centuries ago." Penelope nodded. "Of course, she was so infuriated by her forced marriage that she killed her husband and became a wandering warrior—Neal wrote a brief chapter on her—so it's perhaps not the best precedent."

"But six centuries ago, we'd already be married." Dalton pushed open his door.

"Since that night I fell through the ice," Penelope murmured. She liked the idea of marriage as a direct agreement between two people, ungoverned by priests or ambitious noble parents. "Sometimes I think people were more sensible back then," she added, stepping into his room.

"Except the historians," Dalton muttered teasingly and pulled her into his arms.

PDPD

Perhaps it was this delightful realization that left Penelope so blissfully unconcerned the next morning. In any case, she walked unselfconsciously from Dalton's room just as Mindelan passed by.

"Morning Penelope," she called absently. "I'll see you on the court in a few minutes."

Penelope swallowed back a startled laugh before agreeing.

Mindelan took a few more steps before swinging around suddenly. Penelope froze and glanced guiltily at Dalton's door. Mindelan chuckled.

"I trust you were more discrete over midwinter, lady squire. Pirates' Swoop runs on different rules, you know."

Penelope nodded, stifling her urge an uncontrollable giggle. "How did you—"

"Last winter. You started showing up on time for morning practice the day after Alanna and Dalton left."

"Oh," Penelope said, realizing that this was undeniably true and wondering if anyone else—say Wyldon—had noticed.

PDPD

George listened to this exchange with a triumphant smile. He immediately approached his wife with an outstretched palm.

"Cough up," he ordered. "I told you she knew all along."

Alanna narrowed her eyes and demanded hot tea and proof (both of which George provided, along with several kisses) before she was willing to concede defeat.

PDPD

Dalton spent the afternoon wondering what Wyldon might have noticed and finally cornered Alanna on the practice court to ask her about it.

"I wouldn't worry about that," she told him, her swift-moving sword implying that he had more pressing concerns. "Wyldon has a knack for not noticing anything he isn't ready to see."

"But what if he is read—"

"Well then," Neal interrupted, "none of us has anything to worry about?"

Dalton and Alanna both blinked at him.

"No point in worrying, really, if the sudden and tragic demise of the known universe is upon us." He frowned, pondering what he'd just said. "Of course that philosophical perspective fails to account for the human tendency to…"

Dalton didn't hear any more thanks to Alanna's benevolent decision to offer him smaller and sharper matters to worry about.

PDPD

George watched this exchange with interest and approached with a jingling purse Penelope and Dalton after dinner.

"I wonder if I might persuade you to consider an honest moment before Lord Wyldon—purely for entertainment purposes."

Penelope smirked as though she were actually considering such an arrangement and Dalton swallowed his own brief temptation—no glorious moment of apoplectic shock could make up for the long silence or the death-defying chase that would surely follow. And there was always the possibility that Wyldon would be flustered enough to miss Dalton and hit Penelope if he threw an ax at their heads.

After a second's thought, Penelope narrowed her eyes at George. "I'm inclined to suspect ulterior motives when you propose honesty."

"And how do you know Dalton didn't put me up to this to get you to marry him?"

Penelope paused a moment, afraid of giving them away.

"Those are all coppers anyway," Dalton told him, coming to her rescue. "And half of them forgeries, I'd guess."

"I'm not teaching her next squire how to distinguish coins by sound," George informed them.

"I'd never insist on such a thing." Dalton smiled graciously.

George sighed and pulled a large gold coin from his sleeve. "We do wish you well."

"We know." Penelope smiled, stepping forward to kiss his cheek and take the coin. "We'll reflect on the possibility of full disclosure."

Then they stepped away, leaving George to consider the ease with which she'd accepted what was essentially an early wedding gift and reflect on the financial possibilities such behavior suggested.

_Sorry folks—the actual wedding will be next chapter—I promise! George interfered and I don't argue with him. And this way we'll have an even dozen chapters. Number 12 should be up in a week or two. _


	12. Finally

_Many thanks to all my wonderful reviewers. This story-in-a-story would never have appeared without your encouragement. Here's another epic for you. This chapter, which follows 3 months or so after chapter 11, contains characters and real estate created by Tamora Pierce and material from chapters 29 and 30 Training Master Mindelan. Enjoy!_

Dalton yawned widely as he picked the lock, too tired to be either pleased or alarmed by how quickly he managed it. Then he glanced down the hallway, long since darkened for the night, and let himself inside.

Penelope was curled beneath her blankets, her knees tucked nearly to her chest. She woke suddenly, starting when she sensed the door closing. She uncoiled, reaching vaguely for a weapon, and then recognized Dalton by the way his fingers fit around her shoulder.

"Hey," he mumbled, kicking off his boots and shrugging out of his tunic and trousers to crawl under the covers. "Go back to sleep." He wrapped his arm around her, his eyes already drifting shut.

She rolled over to face him. "But you and Alanna aren't supposed to get here for another two days." It wasn't a complaint, just a logical statement to remind herself that she was probably still dreaming.

"Rode straight through…," he mumbled, "traded spare horses…probably crazy. She should be here tomorrow night."

"Why?"

In answer, he lifted his head just enough to kiss her cheek.

"Really?"

He sighed sleepily against her hair.

Penelope smiled and snuggled closer. "But how did you get in?" She was careful about locking her door even when Dalton wasn't with her.

"George's extensive locking pictorial—"he yawned, but didn't open his eyes—"lock-picking tutorial—essential for surviving the Swoop and occasionally useful..."

"Remind me to thank him," she murmured. But Dalton was already asleep.

PDPD

They had a few blissful days, which they spent riding, and supervising the pages' morning training—and one impromptu afternoon of sledding on trays commandeered from the Riders' Mess—before they learned that their ordeals would fall one after another in the middle of the midwinter holiday. First Penelope's, then Dalton's.

Then the countdown began and their days were spent pacing—in companionable but anxious silence. Penelope polished both of their extensive weapons collections at least once a day and Dalton made several trips to the temple.

Dalton woke to find Penelope's bed empty on the morning of her ordeal. She was pacing the practice courts and he had to grab her shoulders to stop her before he could invite her to come riding with him.

He could feel her pulse hammering through her shoulders while she nodded, as though she knew exactly what he meant to say. They both took longer than usual to saddle their horses, their fingers stumbling over the familiar buckles.

Dalton reined his horse in as soon they reached the edge of the Royal Forest, a place where they'd picnicked the previous summer. Penelope and her horse both inhaled skittishly.

"Dalton?" she murmured, wondering what was making her mouth too dry for real speech. It wasn't her ordeal—that seemed a distant impossibility compared to the look Dalton fixed on her as he dismounted. She mirrored his actions, throwing her reins over her horse's neck and stepping hesitantly forward.

He took both her hands and held her gaze for a long moment. "Will you marry me in two days?" He swallowed. "Just after my ordeal."

Penelope still couldn't speak; she was too busy remembering that this plan hinged upon their both surviving their ordeals and realizing just how soon they'd be carrying it out. But there was no reason to wait—she might as well go after everything she wanted at once, while everything was changing. So she settled for nodding vigorously, kissing Dalton, and lowering her forehead to the safety of his shoulder. Then the full reality of what he'd proposed hit her.

"But—"

"Yes?" Dalton wrapped his arms around her, reminding her just how much she wanted to marry him.

"Don't we need a—"

"I've talked to a priest," Dalton said and Penelope suddenly understood all his uncharacteristic trips to the temple. "All we need are witnesses—a man and a woman preferably—they're each supposed to know both of us." He stepped back so he could watch her face and twined his fingers through hers again. "Who will you ask?"

"Neal," she said automatically because she could think of no else she trusted so much. Then she wondered what Dalton would think of her asking another man, especially one tied to her by rumor. "But if you'd—"

"Good," he said. "I was thinking of asking Alanna."

"Are you sure?" Penelope bit her lip.

"You'd rather have Mindelan?" Dalton frowned.

"No, it's just that I thought you might not want…"

Dalton chuckled and stilled her befuddled lips with one finger. "It doesn't bother me. You love Queenscove."

"I don't!" Penelope stepped back angrily.

"He loves you too." Dalton chuckled again. "I'm not jealous."

"We've never so much as—" she stiffened and went silent as Dalton grabbed her shoulders.

"I know you haven't even thought about." He shook his head. "Like I said, I don't care. I wouldn't want you to see me as a big brother or whatever."

"Oh," she whispered, her shoulders relaxing. "Sorry. I'm a little high-strung at the moment."

"You were an orphan," he murmured, as though just remembering the fact. "You're still figuring these things out." He pulled her to his chest.

"Sorry," she muttered, muffled by his shirt. "I think it's going to take me a while. You might have to be patient."

He tugged gently on her braid. "It isn't easy when you insist on stating the blatantly obvious," he told her through gritted teeth.

"Forget I said that then," she muttered and then kissed him so that he began to. "Right," she added rather breathlessly, "I'll ask Queensove this afternoon then."

"Good," Dalton said. "I really enjoy watching him try to hide sentimental tears." He kissed her and then stepped away and swung into his own saddle. "But if you aren't comfortable with it, you could always invite George or—" he grinned wickedly—"Wyldon."

Penelope mounted and took the bait. "What about Gregory?"

"Or his father?" Dalton glanced back at her as he turned to ride along the forest's edge.

"Peter's father?"

"Lord Lanton?" Dalton offered the name of a notorious conservative.

" Ha Minch?" Penelope returned. "Race?"

Dalton urged his horse into a gallop. "Duke Astor?"

"Sir Cecil?"

Fortunately it was a cold grey day and no one was there to see or hear as they galloped along the meadow, shouting the names of various ill-suited witnesses.

"Lunch?" Dalton called finally.

"Truce?" Penelope reined in her horse.

"Until we have time to peruse some obscure court records," Dalton agreed.

PDPD

"Have a good ride?" Neal asked as Penelope stepped through the infirmary door.

She nodded mutely, telling herself this was because there weren't words to describe her afternoon with Dalton and not because she'd suddenly lost control of her lungs.

"You're nervous," he muttered.

She nodded again and glanced out the window—as if she hadn't just come inside—gauging the hours until sundown. He sighed and shoved aside his chart, beckoning her closer. She walked over and gripped the corner of the desk with her left hand.

"I know we've avoided talking about it," she said—this avoidance was mostly her doing, though Neal generously refrained from mentioning it. "But is there a plan? For me, I mean, with the bath and—"

"Apparently, you're not the only one who thinks I'm incapable of handling these things. Both the Lioness and Mindelan have already offered their opinions on the matter."

Penelope relaxed slightly and hopped up to sit on the corner of his desk.

"Both of the lady knights were instructed in the code after they bathed. And their ordeals seem to have been normal—well, not typical—the Chamber seems to have had rather expected rather exceptional destinies of them—but successful anyway." Neal tweaked her nose and she shot him a tiny smile.

"So after you bathe, the Lioness and I will instruct you in the code." She blinked at him, resisting the urge to laugh at the coincidence. "And yes, you will be the first knight—other than my illustrious self, of course—that she has instructed since her own ordeal."

"But—"

"Mindelan and I discussed the matter at some length and we decided that Lady Alanna's presence would be beneficial. And, then, you have already been at the heart of so many scandals that she is unlikely to cause another. She is the king's champion, you know, and well-respected by a majority of the court."

"Oh," Penelope said softly.

"And of course, I'll be returning the favor tomorrow night and instructing Dalton while he bathes—a sight you would presumably enjoy far more than I will but won't have opportunity to witness."

Penelope rolled her eyes.

"Especially," he continued, "since I plan to have you tucked in bed by sundown tomorrow so that you can be well-rested to greet Dalton when he emerges from the chamber."

"If—"

Neal grabbed her shoulders and shook her lightly. "No ifs. You will both be fine." He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"I was just going to say that if that's everything, perhaps I should go try to get a little rest." She twitched her nose pointedly at his grip on her chin.

"No perhapses," he said, releasing her chin and pulling her down from the desk. "You need to sleep. It's about five hours until sunset; I'll wake you in time to try eating something beforehand."

"Thanks," she muttered. "For everything, I mean, all four years of it," she added as she made her way to the door.

"Three years, eight months," he corrected. And she smiled back at him as she shut the door.

She stood outside it, trembling and wondering how she would face her ordeal when she couldn't find the courage to ask Neal to witness her wedding. But she could think of no one she would rather ask—Dalton had been right of course. She needed Neal's blessing. So she locked her shaking knees and pushed the door open again.

"Sir," Penelope began tentatively.

Neal blinked. She hadn't called him 'sir' for years, except when she was being cheeky, of course.

"I need to ask you something." She fidgeted shuffled her feet and twisted her hands together.

"Go on then," he urged, pushing back his chair and standing to approach her.

She bit her lip and bobbed her head before letting all of her words out in a jumbled rush. "I—Dalton and I are going to be married the day after tomorrow if—after his ordeal that is. Only I haven't any family to—and his father is unhappy with the match so his family won't come—and we need witnesses for the ceremony and—"

Fortunately she ran out of breath and Neal was able to sneak in a few words. "I'd be honored to present you if you like."

She nodded, and practically leapt into his open eyes to hide her tears against his shirt. "Thanks," she whispered. "I knew you would, only I didn't like to ask for…" She trailed off and wiped her face on her own sleeve, stepping back and nodding at him once she had pulled herself together.

"Look," he said, "it's not many squires that manage to make their knight masters this happy and proud the day before they earn their shields. And I'll enjoy watching all the conservatives who can't manage to marry off their perfectly conventional daughters trying to wrap their minds around your success." He bent slightly to kiss her forehead.

She shrugged cheerfully. "Glad to oblige, sir. Even if it means you have to devote another day to my supervision."

He nodded once before surveying her sternly and taking her by the elbow to lead her to the door. "Now, you are to proceed directly to your nap," he ordered, giving her a light shove towards the squires' wing.

PDPD

Dalton greeted Penelope in the squires' corridor with a kiss and a raised eyebrow. She tucked herself comfortably under his arm before answering his unspoken question.

"He agreed," Penelope murmured happily. "And the Lioness?" She asked unlocking her door.

"She asked how I changed your mind and was very disappointed when I couldn't give her a straight answer. We're forgiven of course, and she'll come witness, but apparently we've wrought havoc on a certain betting pool."

"Serves them right for betting on us," she muttered cheerfully, tugging him into the room after her. She sat down on the bed and unlaced her boots.

"I should go," he said reluctantly, bending to kiss her again. "You need sleep."

"So do you." She wrapped an arm around him to keep him from leaving. "And it's your own fault I'm used to having you here."

"I can't argue with your logic," he muttered, kneeling to pull off her boots. "I suppose if I tried you'd threaten to pace yourself into exhaustion after I left."

"I hadn't thought of that," Penelope said, "but it's an excellent idea." She pulled off her tunic and curled up on top of the quilt.

Dalton gave a sigh of mock resign as he removed his own boots and tunic. "I suppose I ought to see you properly settled at least, since you haven't even bothered to tuck yourself in." He grabbed a blanket from her trunk as he climbed onto the bed, wrapping it around both of them as he pulled her into his arms.

"Much better," she whispered settling her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes, glad that she would have this moment of being warm and safe and content to remember during her ordeal.

Dalton smiled as her breathing softened.

Her eyes popped open a moment later though. "I think I might be too happy to sleep," she confessed. "I was nervous before, but now I feel ready, excited to get the ordeal over with so I—we can go on with our lives together."

Dalton resisted the urge to tell her that Alanna had offered—among other things—to lobby with the King to get the two of them (since they would be sharing) one of the large corner rooms in the wing that housed young knights. That sort of planning could wait another day.

"at least close your eyes," he ordered, rubbing the tense muscles of her neck until they loosened. "So you can be ready and rested in a few hours."

She obeyed, yawning despite herself. And within a few moments her breathing had softened once more. Dalton told himself he would wait to leave until she was properly asleep, but his eyes fell shut before he could summon the will to get up.

PDPD

Neal tapped gently on Penelope's door and then opened it when he received no answer. Dalton woke just as he stepped inside, lifting his head to blink sleepily at Neal. They nodded at each other and then Dalton brushed his lips past Penelope's cheekbone and shook her shoulder gently.

"Hey," Dalton whispered. "It's time."

Penelope sat bolt upright and nodded at both of them. She stretched deliberately and pulled on her tunic. Dalton passed her her boots and her fingers shook only slightly as she laced them up.

"Here," Neal said, handing her a napkin full of the spiced midwinter cakes that were her particular favorites. "I thought something sweet might go down better."

Penelope sighed. "It's almost a pity I'm finishing now that I've got you so well-trained."

Neal chuckled. "Alanna said the same thing just before my ordeal." He watched her eat a cake with small deliberate bites before adding, "and if you think I'm finished with you, my-dear-soon-to-be-no-longer-a-squire, I'm afraid you're sorely mistaken."

Penelope managed to smile as she bit into another cake. Then she stood and brushed her hands clean.

Dalton pulled her into a quick hug and mumbled, "love you, see you tomorrow morning." Then he kissed her and fled, as though afraid a lingering goodbye might be too difficult.

Penelope nodded at Neal and laced her fingers trustingly through his as they set off down the corridor together.

PDPD

Since there wasn't any tradition to regulate their behavior as they waited for Penelope to finish bathing, Neal and Alanna considered themselves free to attend to an important matter of business.

"I understand Keladry visited the infirmary this afternoon," Alanna said pointedly, raising her eyebrows.

Neal ducked his head, dug out a coin, and passed it to her. "You were right. She is. If you ask me, though, it's not very sporting to use your women's intuition."

She somehow managed to look down her nose at him even though he was nearly a foot taller. "I did not ask you. And 'women's intuition' had nothing to do with it. Do you have any idea how rarely I manage to beat her with the glaive. Last week was the first time she's lost to me since before Kefira was born. If you made a habit of waking early, you might have seen it for yourself." Alanna sighed loftily and then her face softened. "And then there's the fact that she's absolutely glowing."

Neal smiled. "_That _I did notice this afternoon."

Alanna nodded. "How is she?"

"She's a little worried about managing all her responsibilities, but I'm sure she'll arrange something clever. And, aside from morning sickness—I gave her tea, of course—she's as fit as ever. The baby's healthy too, as far as I could tell."

"Mindelan's pregnant?"

They both turned to find Penelope straightening her simple white clothing.

Alanna nodded slowly and winked once. "Remember, knights are not to speak of anything they learn between their bath and the moment they emerge from the ordeal." She pointed a stern finger at Penelope. "Particularly not if they are so insistent upon keeping their own marriage plans secret for the next two days." She dropped her hand and assumed a formal stance. "Are you prepared to be instructed in the code of chivalry."

Penelope nodded. "I am."

PDPD

Dalton met Alanna and Neal just outside the temple door when they'd finished settling Penelope at her vigil.

"Is she—" he started.

"Breathing hard, sweating harder, and trying not to vomit?" Alanna finished. "Absolutely."

Dalton nodded, deciding it might be just as well that he wasn't with her.

Then Queenscove tapped his shoulder and Dalton thought he might prefer to be far across the country.

"Might I have a word, squire Dalton?"

"Of course, sir."

He glanced at Alanna who indicated that she was headed in the opposite direction, back towards her own quarters and watched them with suspicious eyes.

Dalton—who was well and uncomfortably aware that Penelope and Alanna had probably discussed him during several of their private conversations—and Neal shrugged at one another and walked in silence towards the squires' quarters.

"Congratulations," Neal said finally.

Dalton glanced sideways, waiting for Neal's next clause. It didn't come.

"That was a word—one exactly, by my count," Neal informed him.

"Thanks," said Dalton.

"Also a single, sufficient word," Neal pronounced. "And perhaps as much as Penelope would permit of us in her absence."

Dalton smiled and shook Neal's hand. Then he glanced about to make sure no one else was present before walking to Penelope's door. He nodded in answer to Neal's knowing raised eyebrow before stepping inside. He'd already decided that since he was going to spend the night thinking about Penelope, he might as well spend it among her things, and, in any case, by now most of his clothing was stacked beside the chest at the foot of her bed.

PDPD

Dalton sat with Neal, Alanna, and Mindelan as they waited for Penelope to emerge from the Chamber. Lord Wyldon stood nearby, his eyes fixed intently upon the door.

At last, it opened and she staggered out, shivering.She had a large collection of bruises and scrapes and a strange burn mark on her right hand fingers, but otherwise looked unharmed.

"Are you alright?" Dalton asked, hugging her and wrapping a blanket about her shoulders.

But she could only nod and scan the familiar features of his face happily. Her jaws were so tightly clenched that she could not open them to speak.

"That happens occasionally when they come out," Wyldon told them from a few paces away. "It is only muscle tension. I suggest you use your Gift, Queenscove."

Neal nodded and stepped behind her so that she would not have to leave Dalton's embrace. He set his fingertips beneath her ears, applying Gift and warmth until the muscles loosened enough to allow movement.

"Thanks," she muttered, and then, "it wasn't too much worse than I expected."

"Liar!" Neal rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Guilty," Penelope admitted and she added quickly, " I'm tired, cold, and hungry. And everything hurts. And I'm currently weak as a kitten and not entirely certain where I am in relation to the floor. But all things considered, that's not so bad."

Dalton and Neal nodded at each other as they each took an arm and began escorting her back to her room. There, she consumed an enormous bowl of stew and sizable hunks and bread and cheese, much to the consternation of Dalton, who found that his appetite had abandoned him completely.

Neal took out the dish and returned to find them both lying on their stomachs, heads turned toward one another. They stayed that way for the rest of the day, not talking—because they couldn't talk about the only thing on their minds—but simply waiting with their fingers interlaced. Penelope liked knowing that neither of them had to say anything—they were comfortable simply being—but she rather suspected that Dalton would eventually find out what she had seen, one way or another.

Penelope sighed when Dalton sat up just before sunset.

"I should eat something and report to Lady Alanna."

Penelope nodded. "And I'm in dire need of a hot bath."

They walked together down the squires' corridor. "Thanks for waiting with me," he told her.

She smiled. "Just returning the favor." They kissed and she set her cheek briefly over his heart. "See you in the morning," she whispered and then she forced herself to walk away so that he could focus.

PDPD

Dalton emerged pale and trembling from the chamber the next morning. He flew straight at Penelope, who sprinted up to greet him, and they kissed passionately enough to make Wyldon cough uncomfortably and George whistle loudly. Alanna scowled at both men—who bumped shoulders in their hurry to step out of her way and then jumped away from each other as though scorched—and tapped Dalton gently on the shoulder.

He disentangled himself and allowed her to check him for injuries. Aside from a burn mark across his left fingers—the twin to Penelope's, Alanna realized when she examined it—he appeared unharmed. She decided that the Chamber was growing perverse and meddlesome in its old age, but didn't mention it aloud. Neal would either worry or tell her she was the pot calling the kettle black and she didn't relish either possibility.

She sighed and beckoned Neal to help Penelope drag Dalton back to his room.

There, they sat crossed-legged on the bed to consume the bowls of stew Neal brought them.

"Nervous?" Neal asked as they blew on the soup to cool it.

"No," Penelope smiled at Dalton. "I used it all up the other day." Then she shrugged, realizing that just hours before she'd been more nervous about marrying than about facing her ordeal.

Dalton very nearly fell asleep in his empty bowl as soon as he'd finished eating. Neal chased Penelope out with the promise that he would see them both at the chapel in a few hours.

Penelope was making an impatient, but rather aimless, circuit of the practice courts when Alanna cornered her with a suspiciously soft and lumpy parcel.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to wear a dress, lady knight." The Lionness's expression as she deposited the bundle in Penelope's arms and began dragging her back to her room was almost gleeful and Penelope immediately opened her mouth to protest. "I had to wear one at mine," Alanna continued, "and, more importantly, the queen is going to demand a detailed account of the ceremony—attire included—and I'll have an easier time giving it if I don't have to explain that you were wearing old practice clothes."

Penelope blinked and glanced down, realizing she hadn't changed since her brief morning exercise before Dalton's ordeal. "You're sacrificing me at the altar of convenient gossip?"

"More or less," Alanna agreed. "But I'm not abandoning you completely. I have a very practical and trustworthy dressmaker—she understands needs like breathing and eating and walking—and I demanded a very simple gown—for ease of description and mobility."

Penelope rolled her eyes skeptically.

"Just trust me." Alanna shoved Penelope into her room.

Penelope began unwrapping the dress and sighed with relief when she found that it was a soft blue color and completely devoid of lace and ruffles. Something heavy fell from the package and landed with a dull thump on her bed.

"Oh, it's beautiful." Penelope lifted the dagger that had rolled out of the dress and examined it with a reverent expression. It was sharp and slim and stamped with the mark of Raven Armory.

Alanna chuckled softly.

"The dress and slippers are lovely too," Penelope assured her. Though when she tried the dress on she decided that "lovely" didn't really do it justice. It fit perfectly, draping gracefully in all the right places. When she spun around and glanced in the looking glass she found a feminine and elegant of her everyday practical and athletic self.

"Yes," Alanna muttered. "You are beautiful. Try not to let it go to your head."

Penelope smiled and pulled on the slippers. They also fit perfectly, but they seemed comfortable and sturdy enough to run miles in.

"Who appointed you my fairy godsmother?" she asked.

"Well, I didn't think Neal was particularly well qualified," Alanna explained. "And I have years of experience fair godsmothering—I rather enjoy it, to tell you the truth. Just don't ask to see my wings."

PDPD

"I had no idea she could scrub up so well," Neal muttered to Dalton as they waited for Alanna and Penelope to finish consulting with one of the priestesses of the Goddess. He'd seen Penelope in a dress only a handful of times and she'd always been pretty—she had an attractive liveliness about her even when she was in sweaty practice clothes—but he'd never seen her quite so breathtaking.

"I didn't either," Dalton whispered back. "I think the Lioness had something to do with it."

"A word of advice—"

Dalton rolled his eyes. "I know better than to tell her that."

Neal rolled his eyes back. " I was going to suggest that you not thank Lady Alanna, Excess gratitude makes her nervous."

Then, as though they knew they were being discussed, Alanna and Penelope both turned their heads and raised their eyebrows before strolling slowly back so that the priest could begin the ceremony.

The ceremony itself was quite brief and rather quiet, though Penelope remembered very few details after it was over. Neal also thought it passed in a bit of a blur, but he later decided it had been one of the most intimate and the happiest weddings he'd ever attended. It was not the strangest—that honor went to Daine and Numair—however, it was rather atypical.

No rings were exchanged, because both bride and groom objected to anything that interfered with their ability to grip sword hilts. And the Mithran priest—a plump and practical old man—took one look at the four of them and wisely adjusted the speech so as to emphasize duty and fidelity, rather than purity, nobility, and fertility.

At first, Neal suspected this amendment had something to do with the knife hilt whose outline appeared beneath Alanna's skirt every time she took a particularly large step, but then the priest ended by muttering, " I fancy you two have heard enough drivel about chivalry in the past two days to be getting on with." He turned to Penelope and added, "now hurry up and kiss him properly—none of this cheek-pecking nonsense—the poor novices haven't had anything to gossip about in weeks—this has been lovely but I have quite a bit to do this afternoon—busy time of year, you know."

PDPD

"Congratulations," Mindelan told Dalton when she arrived at the small gathering Lady Alanna had arranged that evening. "You're looking well. Did you have a restful afternoon?"

"For the most part," Dalton replied. The wedding hadn't taken long and he'd spent a few hours packing the rest of his things—or rather, watching dazedly as Penelope packed the rest of his things—to move them to their new shared quarters.

"I heard it was a quiet ceremony," George muttered, smirking at the two of them, "but since they eloped, I wouldn't know."

"You what? That's wonderful." Then she narrowed her eyes at Penelope. "You aren't pregnant are you?"

Dalton forgot how to breathe. Wyldon—who had taken a fortifying goblet of wine immediately upon entering Lady Alanna's territory—swallowed the wrong way and gave a tremendous hacking cough. Alanna pounded both of them on the back as Penelope raised her eyebrows and gently shook her head—at which point Dalton remembered about inhaling and exhaling, though Wyldon continued to sputter weakly.

"I wonder why such an idea should occur to you, lady knight," Penelope murmured, easily ducking the hand Neal tried to plaster over her mouth.

It was another hour or so before Dalton understood the significance of this remark. Mindelan was speaking quietly with Wyldon in one corner when he suddenly shouted across the room.

"Raoul, you owe me five nobles. And Selena, that brandy won't be necessary. A small glass of wine should suffice." Then Wyldon continued speaking quietly to Mindelan.

Dalton turned to find Penelope watching them with a disappointed frown, like a child denied a fireworks display. Her eyes widened, however, when Mindelan pulled Wyldon into a sudden hug, burying her face against his chest. The entire room watched as Wyldon blinked down at Mindelan and tentatively stroked her hair.

Penelope and Alanna both made soft, feminine—and apparently involuntary—cooing noises of a sort he'd never heard from either of them.

"Am I the only one who has no idea what's going on?" Dalton asked. Numair, and Kitten—presumably that was what the whistle meant—assured him that he was not.

George explained the matter. "Your training master plans to devote the worry-free hours she gains with your departure to producing another glaive-wielding youngster."

"How did you know?" Alanna demanded.

"Well, you're knowing smile raised my suspicions and Penelope confirmed them. And then, of course, there is only one running bet between Wyldon and Raoul. Although Raoul, in fact, only owes Wyldon four nobles because Wyldon lost a previous bet concerning the recent marriage of a certain pair of knights."

"So good to have a thief keeping us all honest," Raoul muttered.

Dalton covered Penelope's smirk with his fingers before she could get them both in trouble.

Mindelan shook her head and turned back to Wyldon, who was openly glaring at George. "So I was wondering," she said in a voice loud enough to carry across the room "if you might let me borrow Selena a bit during the coming months—as an assistant."

"That," Wyldon told her with mock severity, "is entirely up to Selena. I, however, consider it highly advisable and also suggest that you make use of the newlyweds, since I understand they'll be stuck here for the next few years. Goodness knows I would rather see them helping you then gadding about flaunting conventions."

Penelope adjusted her seat in their shared armchair and lifted her face to brush her nose against his cheek and whisper in his ear, "or we could do both."

"Especially now that we know Wyldon's a betting man," Dalton murmured back.

"You don't have to ask, lady knight," Selena said.

"We'll do almost anything for room and board," Penelope agreed.

"With the noted exception of retrieving lost pages from trees," Dalton added hastily.

PDPD

Dalton kept up with the conversation for another hour or so before his exhausting morning ordeal and the Penelope's sleepy weight against his chest lulled him into a heavy doze. His snoring had a similar effect on Penelope and her eyes drifted shut moments later.

George shook them awake as the other guests were leaving and they staggered to the door.

"Enjoy your wedding night," Alanna called after them.

"Don't be cruel," they heard George mutter. "They've both gone two days without sleep."

Penelope's head drooped against Dalton's arm throughout the walk back to her room and Dalton fell asleep against her shoulder while she opened the door. Both bride and groom collapsed on the bed without removing so much as their shoes and just had time to shoot one another rueful glances before their eyelids slid shut.

Dalton woke an hour or so later and managed to blow out the candle, remove Penelope's slippers and his boots, and wrap an arm around her before he fell asleep again. Later still, Penelope woke long enough to wriggle out of Dalton's grip and her dress, slip on a nightshirt, and pull off Dalton's tunic and trousers. This prompted Dalton to pull up their covers the next time he woke, so that by dawn they had comfortable sleeping arrangements.

And by noon they were rested enough to wake properly and gaze at one another. Dalton swept a bit of hair from Penelope's cheek and she tilted her head to kiss his fingers.

"Just imagine what this will do to our reputation as lustful young knights," Penelope muttered, wincing as she thought of the endless teasing Neal and George (and, for all she knew, Wyldon, given his unexpected behavior the previous evening) were certain to supply.

"Well," Dalton murmured, trailing his hand down her neck to her shoulder so that he could pull her closer and kiss her, "since we're never going to hear the end of it, we might as well earn it."

PDPD

They did not start moving their things to their new room—a larger corner room, thanks to Alanna—in the knights' wing until late afternoon and, even with Selena's help, it took them longer than expected. Admittedly, Penelope interrupted the process with a few bouts bout of inexplicable, hysterical laughter—which Selena joined in and Dalton watched with a bewildered expression—and several kisses—during which Selena stood by with a tolerant smile and crossed arms, refusing on general principle to work while they weren't.

Still, they were well rested enough to drag themselves to the practice courts at dawn the next morning.

Mindelan approached them afterwards, as they were leaning happily against the wall, passing a shared waterskin back and forth.

"I know it's a ways off," she said. "But I've been thinking about the spring's new squires—and I was wondering if you could take two." She smiled encouragingly. "That is if you would each take one—I'm sure I could work out some sort of favorable financial arrangement."

"Of course," Dalton said automatically because he was still used to obeying Mindelan's requests. And Penelope was still so wonderfully happy and tired that she found herself echoing him.

It was only after Mindelan walked away that they realized what they'd gotten themselves into.

Neal sauntered over to pat her shoulder. "It'll be an adventure," he said, cheerfully. "I believe that was the word you used the first time we were wet, hungry, tired, and in imminent danger of decapitation."

"You're exaggerating—"she sighed—"and I was a rather irritating, little optimist."

"Nothing's changed," Neal said sweetly, impossibly sweetly for such an early hour. "But with a little luck your squire will be a paranoid pessimist prone to glum pronouncements and morbid imaginings." He nodded at Dalton and started back towards the infirmary.

"I hope not," Dalton murmured, kissing her temple. "I've developed a soft spot for impossible little optimists."

She smiled and tucked herself under his arm. "We are rather endearing, aren't we?"

_Which is why the adventure continues in Love and Money and Eventfully Ever After, which picks up just days after the end of Love and Money. Anyway, I want to thank all my readers for sticking with my stubborn little characters so long—you're proving all those people who say the Internet is shortening our attention spans wrong—and invite you to stick around for more romance, drama, action, comedy, and Neal-and-Wyldon baiting!_

_A preview of EEA: _

It was only when Gregory followed her—at, Penelope had to admit, a polite distance—that she realized they had a new neighbor.

PDPD

The twins had left a note pinned to the door. They were with some friends from the Queen's Riders—probably up to something mildly illegal—and would not be back until suppertime. Penelope shrugged and went inside to find Dalton slumped on their bed, gazing lethargically at a recently opened letter.

"Hey," she said, discarding her cloak and boots.

"My father had a stroke," he muttered. "It killed him instantly."

_Coming in August!_


End file.
